


Before the Wolf

by sailtheplains



Series: Mirrorscape [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Arlathan, BFF Dorian, Cassandra don't play, Cole brings up the awkward truth, F/M, Gay Best Friend, M/M, Mama Cass, Momquisitor, OH snap, Papa Bull, Papa Cullen, Rite of Tranquility, Rivaini blood oranges, Scary Ghost Brother Cole, Team Misfit Sera-Dorian-Cole, Team: Blue Collar Comedy Tour : Iron Bull-Sera-Varric, Team: Closet Romantics : Cassandra-Dorian-Solas, Team: Cole's Uncles : Iron Bull-Solas-Varric, Team: HORNS UP : Cassandra-Iron Bull-Vivienne, Team: Hobo : Cole-Dorian-Solas, Team: Liar's Club : Blackwall-Iron Bull-Solas, Team: Magic School Bus : Cassandra-Cole-Sera, Team: Original Squad : Cassandra-Solas-Varric, Team: Sassmasters : Dorian-Solas-Vivienne, Team: Sex In The City : Dorian-Iron Bull-Sera, Team: Squad Leaders : Cassandra-Iron Bull-Solas, Team: The Bourne Identity : Blackwall-Iron Bull-Solas, Team: Troll The Seeker : Iron Bull-Sera-Varric, Team: Works Hard For the Money : Cassandra-Varric-Vivienne, The Losers Club, Uncle Dorian, Uncle Varric, Vivienne gotta smack a bitch, Vivienne is a godless killing machine, ancient elves flashback lunch, brother Cole and sister Sera, but i hate her, elf sister Sera, i respect the shit out of her, its on, made tranquil, mage party, magic has a scent, oh shit son, rogue party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-05-23 20:24:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 34
Words: 164,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6129016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailtheplains/pseuds/sailtheplains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The stark difference in how Solas is viewed at the beginning of the game, versus the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas/Lavellan  
> \-------------
> 
> She’d been suspicious of Solas. He was so polite and so interesting and so conveniently _there_ at the Conclave. Eckona had waited to get a read on him but he was so carefully controlled. Not even that. Something more desperate than that. _Restrained_.

Before.

Everything was Before and After. There was no inbetween. The sliver of space was the distance of two lovers, sliding and hot and desperate. There was Before and then After. 

 

She’d been suspicious of Solas. He was so polite and so interesting and so conveniently _there_ at the Conclave. Eckona had waited to get a read on him but he was so carefully controlled. Not even that. Something more desperate than that. _Restrained_.

She decided she would observe him. His motives were the only ones that weren’t clear. She told herself quite sternly that no matter how kind he presented himself to be—she must be careful. They were calling her the Whore of Andraste. The Witch of the Inquisition. The Pale Doom. The Ghost Child.

There was no telling who was a friend and who wasn’t. Varric was a liar—he was a rogue and storyteller. Seemed like that would go hand in hand. Cassandra wore her belief, her truth, like armor. Blackwall was much the same (honestly, couldn’t she just arrange a blind date for them or something?). Cullen was a man both young and old. The smallest things made him smile. It was charming. But underneath that, something _lurked_ behind his amber eyes. Sensual Vivienne, capable Josephine and dapper Dorian, poised Leliana, rough immature Sera and the loneliness of Cole.

And yet, the other elf was the one who hid in plain sight. 

Something was going on. She may have been thrust into all this madness but she wasn’t stupid. But, she kept her tongue and waited—trying to figure out what was happening. His stories were so fascinating, so varied and wide. He spoke as if he’d lived a thousand years—but the elves weren’t immortal anymore. In the Fade, perhaps one could see several life times?

Perhaps it was the first time she heard him speak about the Fade—triggered only by her insistence at asking questions. When he spoke of the Veil and the sadness of spirits and how they might co-exist with all races….

Was it slow? It was him one moment and the next…something else. Something deeper came through. His face lit up, his eyes sparked, his voice rose in his advent, fervent admiration and something else he seemed to have for the Fade that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. 

That moment presented her with two sides. The Solas that was always _restrained_ by something deeper. And the Solas who had intensity and drive. The Solas who, the first time he locked eyes with her and they became dark and heated, she _felt_ it. He was a man who was deliberate in his actions and yet _restrained_ by……something. 

He wasn’t shy, exactly. No more than she was, anyway. Was he trying to slowly let down that armor? To let her see him for who he was---a man with passions and devotions like everyone else. Flesh and blood.

Before and After?

Her first attempt at a clumsy probing—to ascertain his current status (Single? Married? Celibate? [Ugh.] Possessed by spirits?) went about as expected. He did not seem displeased (though pointing out how obviously she was unable to keep her eyes on his seemed unnecessary, to her) but it was painless, if awkward. She apologized and hurried out to grab whatever Josephine was up to that might take her away from Haven for several days. 

Take someone with you, they always insisted. Don’t go alone. The bears were extremely dangerous in these parts (seriously, what was with the bears around here?). Blackwall, Cassandra….both calm, fortified, steady. No silliness of this strange feeling she was experiencing. It crept into her gut, slipping into the dark corners of her mind. She had meant to only observe but somehow…without her permission….that had changed. They wouldn’t notice, surely.

But who else? Not Sera, she was constantly frustrated by the spitfire and she didn’t have the patience to keep Cassandra from skinning her. 

Vivienne didn’t seem to jive as well with the two warriors. Her personality was simply too entrenched in the Game. 

Dorian lived fast and high—and he was a shark. Let him stay for now until she got to know him better, at least.

Varric—no, again with nod to Cassandra. 

Later in Before, Cole would enter the picture but it was not Later yet.

Of course, she ought to take Solas. Just….that he was so knowledgeable about the Rifts and he was classically trained in magic, wasn't he? She had learned piecemeal from whoever would teach her--which was exactly no one. Hell, maybe _he_ could teach her…anything. If anyone could get around the cork on her magic, it would be him. She’d turned to the bow and lockpicks in absence of someone who would help her try. But Solas was the perfect teacher in every way. Knowledgeable, reasonable, forgiving of mistakes and blunders because they were other teachers. But firm in his expectancy that she take it seriously. 

She did just fine in public, she treated him the same as always—her friend: ready with a smile and a story, the scent of paper and inks, the burning fire behind the blue in his eyes. Her friend. When Cassandra and Blackwall would begin talking about swords or battles they had won, they would wander away from the camp to clean their weapons and tend to them. Leave the mage to his staff. Leave the ranger to her bow. 

And then she would feel an oppressive strangeness, struggling to figure out how to speak to him. In the end, it always came down to magic…to the Fade. Everything to him, seemed to boil down to the Fade. It was everything. It had given him so much. 

She was only supposed to observe him. Try to parse out his motivations.

And suddenly, she found herself being swept up in this unexpected rush of feeling when she saw him. 

Something strange and amazing and….

 

 

What was the final straw? 

Eckona would look away if asked but she knew the answer. 

Redcliffe. The terrible mission to see the leader of the Rebel Mages with Dorian. Being forced from time and coming back to a year having passed. Hurrying into the cells and hearing a faint shift, a murmur, a presence of magic and—

“ _Solas!_ ” She’d choked out, almost like a shout. She grabbed the bars of his cell. “Are you all right? You look terrible. Are you okay?”

For just a flash, she saw the shock in his face ( _We saw you die._ ) and just as quickly, it was gone. 

And, as always, he was calm, steadfast.

She’d done so well in front of the others in keeping her composure—until he, Sera and Blackwall said they would hold the door and something swelled up fiery and fierce and protective. 

Was he not the kind mage—who thirsted for knowledge for its own sake, watched memories, consoled spirits, perhaps was even lonesome at times—he _watched her die_ and was tortured like Leliana, Sera and Blackwall and who knew what had happened to the others. 

She cast her hands aside, no—after all that, suicide? Just to save her? Some scrubby backwoods hick of an elf who just happened to get magical skin disease and was now one of the most talked about people in Fereldan and Orlais. No—no—that wasn’t fair! None of it was fair! She reached out to Solas—as Dorian grabbed her arm and pulled her up the dais steps.

Then passed the worst and longest two and a half minutes of her life. The total silence beyond the door, like cold gates of ice clutching around her heart and choking the breath out of her. 

And then pounding, then yelling, the screaming and the door shattered and their lifeless bodies were brusquely shoved aside, in the room.

Her eyes went red and before she could process she had her bow drawn, arrow flying, streaking by Leliana and burying itself into thick, molted flesh. She couldn’t hear Dorian yelling for her.

She saw the arrow that hit Leliana; the brave, bold woman standing her ground like a goddess as they mobbed her. Dorian jerked her back again and through the rift.

How she managed to keep her composure long enough to take care of Alexius—she didn’t know. She didn’t even remember it later. Dorian told her that she walked out like it was the most natural thing in the world and relayed her commands like a commander, a real honest to goodness _leader_. 

But when she returned to Haven…something felt broken. She fell apart. Watching them throw his body aside as if he were nothing, over and over again at night. To go with the myriad of other nightmares and terrors she saw in sleep. 

That had been the breaking point. 

That was when she had to admit to herself, she’d been drawn in by him. This was not about observing any longer. It was something…something else. 

Something that, later when she asked him about himself and he somehow took her into the Dream—she didn’t hesitate. They could all die today, tomorrow, the day after. All the death and fighting had her grasping for his calm resolve and strength. She kissed him. And she felt it, more than saw, how his eyes changed—became dark and predatory. How he grabbed her up, leaning over her, mouth chasing hers and then pouncing at it. 

How she thrilled to it inside—she’d been right about one thing, at least—that reserved nature was hiding a searing intensity. It left her breathless and invigorated. Their eyes met as her hands grabbed into his broader shoulders, trying to steady herself. How raw and hungry the blue looked now from here. 

From so close.

Blue steel, like a trap: shining and clear, they bore into her hazel eyes from the inside out. He grabbed her hip, held her tight to him and kissed her twice more before he stepped away.

She was left spinning, swallowing hard. 

_Wake up_ sent a flood of heat tightening in her belly, spiking hard for him—and she jerked awake.

“Sleep well?” he’d asked, with that dry smile. It made her want to kick him and also smile so hard her cheeks might crack. 

 

It was sincere and almost playful, at first. A touch on her arm to get her attention rather than the titles and laurels others had put on her. She brought him real coffee beans from Val Royeaux because he was an idiot that drinks tea when he didn't like it.

“I detest the stuff,” he said, making a face.

“Well, then why are you drinking it, you dummy?” She laughed.

He blinked and smiled.

When they went out to save his spirit friend, she noticed how he gravitated towards her in their group. A barrier always went around her first, she reveled in the feeling of his magic—sparking beside her as she notched one arrow after another. It was warm, spicy, searing—the scent of his magic crackling like bared teeth. 

At night, at their camps, when she made arrows and he insisted on helping peel the shafts. He picked up the wood, pulling it to himself as he sat beside her in the grass. She looked at him. “What are you doing?”

“You are making arrows.”

“Have you ever even touched an arrow, Fade-lover?”

That made him laugh loud enough that Cassandra looked over at them from her tent across the camp.

Eckona put a hand over his mouth. “Shh!”

His eyes softened at her and she felt him lightly kiss her fingers. A startled little laugh huffed from her and she drew her fingers back. She glanced at Cassandra—who was, mortifyingly enough, staring _extremely_ hard at them.

“I have touched arrows before,” Solas said softly, breaking his gaze on her and looking aside. “I am proficient in much besides magic.”

“You can’t even pick a beverage that you like. I don’t trust you.”

“You shouldn’t trust me,” he told her, giving her that rare smile.

It made her chuckle, glancing down and leaning over to bump his arm. He gently touched her spine and then they got to business. 

He showed her how to make a little knife from ice, so hard and sharp that it whisked over the new arrows like butter.

“Eckona,” he said, turning her hands palms-up in his own. “You have the blood. I can teach you. Whatever it is that holds your magic back--I will find a way around it.”

Her heart was in her throat for a moment and she swallowed it down. “Please, teach me, _hahren_.”

His eyes softened again at the words. “Of course,” he answered. 

 

 

 

“She’s getting a little starry-eyed over the elf, ain’t she?” Blackwall grunted.

Cassandra frowned. “Yes. I imagine she must get a lot of attention now, because she is the Herald. It is none of my business. But—it could be overwhelming.”

“Or distracting.”

“That too. And we still do not know exactly why Solas was near the Conclave. There is something else that he does not say.”

Blackwall grunted, nodding a little and glancing over at the two elves again as they got up. Solas picked up his staff and held it before her, murmuring something in Elvish to her. He was a head taller than the Herald, broader in the shoulder, though both were considered willowy when compared to humans. His staff was a little taller than he was and so it looked comically tall in the Herald’s hands. 

“Still,” Blackwall said quietly. “She’s young. A lot has been put on her for one who is so young.”

Cassandra looked at him and sighed, nodding. “I wish that were not so.”

Blackwall half-smiled. “If wishes were fishes…”

Cassandra snorted softly. “We’d all be dead.”

 

 

Her hand didn’t hurt as much when she closed the rifts. The problem was being completely unable to protect herself when she disrupted them. This was when her friends must show their mettle and fight their hardest. It put them all at risk. 

But she knew it must be done. Still, watching them—watching _him_ \--almost get killed fifty times every day was maddening. Exhausting. Maybe that had distracted her when she turned too far, too slow. She was locked in place, closing the rift and that snapping, horrible face appeared before her. Mutilated and slumping like a bundle of filthy rags given sentience. She jerked back, it slashed down her face and bit deep into her neck and shoulder. 

She gasped, felt the rift burst out of existence, then she staggered and fell. Solas caught her, throwing his staff aside as he lowered her to the grass and tearing open her armor. The blue leather, inlaid with steel, had barely put up a fight against the demon’s strike. 

“Herald!” He demanded, baring the wounds to the sunlight. 

Her head lolled to one side, trying to keep her eyes open with a small gurgling whimper. Her mouth felt sticky and metallic. Blood was pooling and soaking her collarbones. Solas wrapped his fingers around a chunk of terrible claw, flinching at the burn of Fade-demon flesh. He jerked it out of her throat and threw it away from him.

Cassandra appeared, shoving her potions at him and kneeling down. She tore off her cloak, bundling it and pressing against the deep gashes in the Herald’s neck. Blackwall braced her legs and pulled off his belt to help secure Cassandra’s cloak.

“Solas!” Cassandra snapped. “The potions!”

The elf had been staring down at the Herald, looking almost torn. At her voice, he started and pulled off his gloves. He placed one on her throat and one on the cloak pressing into her shoulder and the dimming cavern was filled with blue mist and light. 

Her throat knitted back together slowly, new tissue and skin crawling across the torn arteries like moss. He stared at it, breaking out in a cold sweat. 

Blackwall grabbed the potions anyway, pouring one over her new skin and letting another soak through the cloak and into her shoulder. The potions would coagulate almost instantly into hard, stiff scabs. They were intended to seal wounds, to buy time until one could get real help. They bubbled and hissed under Solas’ magic and finally, the skin met and melded together. 

Solas released the spell, panting softly and pulling her shirt aside to check her shoulder.

“She should be all right now,” Blackwall said quietly, observing Solas. 

“We should take her back to Haven. She needs to rest. She lost a lot of blood.” Solas let her shirt go back to its place. He wrapped her in Cassandra’s cloak and picked her up. 

On Blackwall’s other side, Cassandra’s fingers slowly pulled away from her dirk. Her eyes followed the mage, narrowed. 

 

When Eckona opened her eyes, she stared up at the paintings on her walls for a long moment before she realized she wasn’t where she was supposed to be. She startled, jerking into full awareness, grabbing for the dagger she kept sheathed under her pillow. It wasn’t there.

“ _Falon_ ,” Solas said, touching her shoulder. He switched to Elvish—as he did whenever they were alone. “How do you feel?”

Eckona had jerked away from his touch to look and then, realizing it was him, relaxed again. “ _Hahren_ …..what happened? I feel like I got kicked by a horse.”

“One of the demons—his claws tore deep into your throat.” He lifted his fingers to delicately skim them in a line across her throat. “We brought you home to rest.”

She reached up to touch. 

“The scars will remain but you’re alive and that is what matters.”

She seemed to deflate. “I’m sorry. When I close the rifts I—“

“I know. We know. It’s all right.”

“Are the others all right?”

“Yes, of course. They’re fine. Cassandra insisted on checking on you all throughout the day yesterday and today. As if I will spirit you away somewhere.”

“Will you?” she asked him quietly, a half-smile crooking her face.

Solas shifted, sitting next to her on her bed. “If you want me to.”

She felt his presence suddenly, stark and deep and enveloping. He cupped her cheek and she moved into it immediately. These brushes with death were constant. She should be used to it. But somehow, it still made her sick, still racked her thoughts, still made her feel the deep bite of loneliness. But when he touched her and she followed his touch, like one starving for affection, she felt wild and desperate. She pushed herself up, grabbing onto him.

Their mouths met seamlessly, meshing hot and breathing each other in. 

“I worried this time. You brushed the very door of death,” he gasped into her mouth. His hands descended, large and possessive, pulling her close to him. 

“Solas,” she choked out softly. 

That small sound of his name—from her, from the Inquisitor, forced into her position. Now she was the center of fighting and death and constantly under threat and there must come a breaking point, mustn’t there? When one cannot pretend anymore that it’s all blueberry preserves when it is, in fact, Nightshade. Everyone went through such things when they had seen enough battle and death.

But her voice, the small, stilted cry and something swelled up inside of him. He turned on his knees, pulled her down onto her back and knelt to her. His hands went to her night clothes, soft and loose cotton, uncoupling the buttons rapidly. 

She gasped softly, exposed to the air and to his gaze and her hands followed up his chest to tug at his tunic. He got it off, throwing it aside and ducking in to kiss her throat. She felt his teeth skim the sensitive, scarred flesh. “ _Emma lath…._ ” he murmured.

“ _Vhenan…_ ” she whispered.

Their eyes met. He saw hazel, like a leaf in mid-turn from summer to autumn. She saw dark blue steel, and spidermum flowers and… _teeth_ …almost like—a wolf, a _fen_ \--

He kissed her hard and her hands went to his belt, uncoiling the tongue as he pulled her up. He parted her nightdress completely, pushing it from her shoulders. His hands wandered and traveled and skimmed, cupping one small breast and flexing around it, feeling her nipples harden. 

He ducked in to her throat again. Breathing in her scent and kissing her, running his lips from one side to the other, gasping heavy in her ear before claiming her mouth again. She moved like a wave, rolling up against his body. Her hands caressed his shoulders, sliding to his back and digging her fingernails into him. He grunted, letting their foreheads rest against each other and then back to kissing her throat, moving down to her nipple and _sucking_. 

He felt her whole body jerk, heard her smother a moan into a broken little gasp. His fingers slid down between her warm thighs, circling and then slipping in between. He heard her gasp, louder. He felt the muscle in her legs and abdomen ripple as he circled and stroked her and guiding one finger into her. Her back arched and she grit her teeth, silently. He massaged, coaxing, beckoning her closer to the flame like a moth. 

He felt the magic in her blood spiking and surging. She smelled like a forest after a thunderstorm, electric and citrus. He felt her shift, bringing her knee up tight against his side as he slipped a second finger into her. Her spine arched again, languid and sultry. He felt her hands slide up from his shoulders, touching his ears gently, making them twitch. 

She could feel his magic, as well. Broiling and rolling inside of him like a boiling pot of water. Like pepper and metal, spicy and metallic. She felt him add a third finger, sliding deep, wet. She gasped, unable to silence it, and she _felt_ his magic spike hard, coiling tighter and hotter. 

His fingers left her and she breathed, meeting his eyes again. She saw it—the intensity in him that he kept hidden in his mild-manner. He shifted and when he lined up to her and pressed in, her eyes widened at the feeling, mouth opening to breath. His expression hardly changed except for the twitching of his eyes, except for the harsh breath that coughed out through his gritted teeth.

Only when he was fully seated did his expression break apart, closing his eyes and bowing his head. “Oh…” he said, softly.

Her head tipped back, spinning with sensation. Feeling him long and hot and hard inside of her, she shuddered. 

Somehow, their mouths connected again, breathing in gasping air as he shifted and moved. He pulled back, thrusting inside of her with force as deliberate as everything else he did. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders. He braced himself on one arm and grabbed her hip with his free hand and it was sliding skin, sweat, buzzing magic and he _fucked_ her. Her hands dropped to the sheets, coiling into them. He lowered himself to her, cupping the back of her neck instead, holding her to him. His eyes went wide and they flared dark and red and suddenly he was moving again, rolling her onto her stomach. She started to push herself up—but he pinned her down. He lifted her hips and sunk into her. _That_ made her cry out. She couldn’t silence it now as he moved, thrusting hard and consistent. He laid over her back, nosing at her hair line. 

And then he _bit_ her.

He felt her magic swirl, spike and scatter. He felt her whole body tremble and shake, heard her lungs stutter out a moan. It turned into something long, drawn out, animalistic and he held her hands down, marking her throat. Here, she was not the Inquisitor or the Herald or even Andraste’s. She did not have to fight or make the tough choices or constantly keep up appearances.

Here, she was _his_.

The fire peaked in her—and she came apart, clenching down on him.

He followed directly. And, well, he was hers.

At least until After.


	2. Middle : Now, the Cookie is Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's lonely at the top. 
> 
> Eckona (pronounced: Echo (as in, the sound of an 'echo') - Na (as in, you know, Na)
> 
> I had kind of an odd time parsing out how I felt about the Winter Palace section. The Inquisitor seemed so tired afterwards.

The distance between Before and After was as a sliver between two lovers. But, the sliver did exist. Often, large events in our lives bookend other, smaller things. Those things are still important...but history would not remember them.

 

The events at the Winter Palace pushed her hard. The Inquisitor changed after that event.

No one could say for certain why—was it the nobles and their plotting and scheming? Dancing around so many people who would see her dead? Force her to align one way or another, when all of them were wrong? How Leliana and Josephine put up with this dangerous Game was something Eckona would never understand. She was exhausted.

Even getting the Empress, Gaspard and Briala to work together, revealing the Duchess’ treason to the court—she ought to have felt some semblance of pride in her work….shouldn’t she?

But she didn’t. 

All she seemed to feel was a bone deep ache inside of her. Something….empty. She stared listlessly at the splendor of the palace and the surrounding land and listened to the beautiful music and the people and just wanted to hide somewhere small and dark. 

Even when Solas appeared to join her, she couldn’t seem to smile. His little quips and bright eyes, his touch on her back…she would normally thrill to it—but this time…it only seemed to widen to gaping hole in her stomach. 

All she wanted to do was go back to Skyhold and not talk to anyone for awhile. Or…maybe only to… _safe_ people. Iron Bull or Cassandra. People who were more interested in battle and combat than _feelings_. People who were honest, blunt, to the point. She knew where she stood with them. No games. 

As deeply as she felt for Solas—still felt for Solas—a part of her despaired. He was content to be with her sometimes—but still insisted he needed _time_. Time for what, she didn’t know. She wanted to give him that time. To let him work out whatever he needed to. But at the same stroke…she wanted someone, _needed_ someone who could look at her as something _besides_ the Inquisitor. 

She felt blank. Numb inside. She felt cold and dark when they finally left the Palace the following day. Vivienne was going on with her _my dears_ and _Oh, how lovely_ and _there will be such talk for months!_ and she had to force herself to pull back on her horse. She let it slow, letting the woman ride far ahead of her with the others. She trailed near the back. 

At their camp, Solas looked politely confused when she did not come sit to fletch arrows and eat with him. She went into the brush. She touched the leaves and recited their names. She came to a creek and stepped into it, feeling the water rush over her boots, pulling at the tough leather. 

She looked up at the familiar constellations and stars. She listened to the wind. Her breath felt captured, weak. She sat on her knees in the mud and grass and looked at the glowing mark. It pulsed. All the fighting and all the death because of this mark. All the aches in her chest and stomach, all the nightmares. Restlessly tossing and turning on her bed in that huge room in Skyhold. All the greetings and asking for her judgments and looking to her to make the tough choices and somehow _lead_ everyone through this fucking _mess_. Couldn’t she make her inner circle, at least, stop calling her _Inquisitor_ for five fucking seconds?

Did they even _know_ her name?

No. Maybe they didn’t. Just like at the camps. The Dalish were nomads. Bonds were never made with any strength because anyone could be gone tomorrow. When you lose enough people that way, you learn not to make any bonds at all. And sometimes, even if there were bonds... 

_Anock--it's dark. It's dark. It's so dark. Please let me out!_

She did not want to think that anyone among the Inquisition would betray her but…..it must always be a possibility. Nothing was certain. No one belonged to anything. Everyone would go into the Dark. 

Even Solas. Did he care about _her_ or did he care about the Inquisitor?

Why had the Winter Palace brought all this on? Why was her throat closing up and her eyes burning and why was she fucking _crying_ alone, in the dark, on the side of the road?

She was so tired. So….empty.

She wasn’t sure how long she sat alone in the forest but the camp had quieted and the fires were burning low when she started back.

Cole appeared to be the only one still awake. Or, at least, the only one not in his tent, except for the guards on watch. He was sitting with his legs crossed, studying the embers with such intensity—like trying to pull something out of them. But his over-large pale blue eyes flicked up when she came back. He blinked them at her—like two stars. 

“Hello, Cole,” she said quietly. “Are you all right?” 

He nodded, following her with his eyes until she sat down on a log across the fire. 

She sighed softly. “What is it, Cole?”

“There’s all the dark,” he said. “It’s shiny and black like obsidian. On the outside. So hard, over-hard, like a diamond but inside, it’s warm and soft, like a puppy.”

She nodded a little like it made sense to her. It didn’t. But much of what Cole said didn’t make sense. No one was able to have the context that he made in his head—except for Solas, apparently (he never seemed to have trouble understanding the things Cole talked about). She opened her pack and pulled out a cookie (they’d taken a lot of leftovers from that party). “Here, Cole.”

That distracted him. He looked lanky, like a spider, or a spindly scarecrow, as he got up and moved over to sit on her log next to her. He peered at the cookie.

“Can you eat it?” she asked softly, a little belatedly. She ought to have found out sooner whether he….needed to eat or not.

He took it in his long fingers, peering at it and then licking the flat side. “Its oven was hot. It made it complete.”

She nodded to him. “Yes. That’s true.”

He took a bite out of it. “Now, it’s dead.”

Something inside of her seemed to deflate, sag against that empty feeling inside of her. “Yes…” She looked into the fire, gritting her teeth and trying to smother that terrible blackness from welling up again.

“Thank you,” Cole told her, tilting his head like a dog might and peering at her. 

“You’re welcome,” she whispered.

“Do you need to make it come out?”

“Make what come out, Cole?” she asked quietly, still staring into the fire.

“All the aloneness,” he answered. He took a second bite. “All the alone.”

“I’m surrounded by people,” she answered, feeling her chest tighten unbearably, like she was being strangled.

“Sometimes, that’s when we feel the most alone.”

She froze for a split-second and then looked at him. 

He peered back with his sky-blue eyes and it suddenly occurred to her how clear and pure they looked under his mess of hair. 

“They could trade me for anyone else with this mark,” she blurted out. 

“Some of them could,” Cole confirmed. “But some of them could not.” He took a third bite.

She looked down. 

Cole was quiet for a moment and then, from the edge of her vision, she saw his hand stretch out. “Here,” he said. It was the last sliver of his cookie. “Not everyone would give me something. But you did.” He pushed it into her fingers.

She looked at it. And then it became blurry and fuzzy and she choked back a sound and covered her mouth with her free hand. It took her a moment to get ahold of herself. And then she took a small bite. “Thank you, Cole.”

“Don't leave,” he said, plaintively, almost child-like.

“I won't, Cole. I won't.” She managed and then she dug out another cookie. “Here. And when we get back to Skyhold—I’m going to have Dagna make you new, warm clothes and armor. All right?”

He nodded. “I like being warm.”

“I’m glad, Cole. Thank you.”

Cole tilted his head again. “For what?” he asked, keeping his eyes on her as he raised the cookie to his mouth and jammed a corner of it in to bite.

Eckona gave him a watery smile, a little laugh. “For being you, Cole. Thank you for being you.”

“I want to help. I want to _be_.” He smiled very faintly, something tentative and gentle.

“I know.”

 

She was quiet all the way to Skyhold but Cole had seemed to settle her, at least. She didn’t cry or feel so helpless. She needed an outlet. Of course, as soon as she returned more of the Chantry flocks were braying for her to make choices again. She said to the Reverend Mother, quite sternly, with a sour edge to her voice, that Cassandra and Leliana were big fucking girls and could make the decision themselves whether or not to go to Val Royeaux. She would not order them to leave or to stay. The Inquisition’s little club wasn’t mandatory. If their faith led them to believe they must go to that city, they would go no matter what she said. 

Josephine started to stop her again and Eckona finally had to raise a hand. “I can’t, Josephine. Give me a few hours.” 

“Inquisitor—“

That rage flashed through her. “ _Stop calling me that!_ ” She burst out and then instantly bit it back. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she said quickly. “I…”

“….we have noticed, my lady, that you seem….on edge, since the Winter Palace.”

“Yes. I’m…I’m just tired.”

“Please then, get some rest and join us when you can.”

Eckona staggered back to her room and collapsed. 

 

She slept so long that when her eyes opened, it was dark. Though, it was quiet—so it must be late in the night. 

“You shouldn’t keep your windows open when you sleep, you know.”

She didn’t even startle. Her head stayed on her pillow. She was turned on her side, curled up in a tight ball facing the western wall. Her eyes went to the chair by her wardrobe. 

Solas frowned. “I…have been selfish. I was only thinking how this…between us…would affect me. Not how it might affect you.”

With effort, she pushed herself up to a sitting position. “It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters, except stopping the Elder One and the Rifts.”

He frowned deeper. “ _Emma lath_ ,” he murmured, getting up and walking over to her bed. “There is…much that matters.”

She stared down at her hands. “It could have been anyone. How many times have they said it themselves? It’s not about _me_ , it’s about the mark.”

“You have shown leadership. Cassandra made you the leader of the Inquisition. You proved yourself.”

She swallowed hard. “I….I don’t know if I—“

He pulled her to him. “It is natural to doubt sometimes. And the events at the Winter Palace seem to have had a large effect on you. I apologize. I was so wrapped up in how much I enjoyed it that I did not see.”

She shook her head against his shoulder. “I’m not trying to—to make anyone feel guilty or—“

“I know. I think that, perhaps, there is a kindness to you that is often battered against, like a ship at sea. And you think you cannot show it. The ugliness of the world can become too much for anyone sometimes. We all deal with it in different ways. I run away to the Fade. You…become withdrawn and turn inward on yourself. Only Cole seemed comfortable approaching you on the return to Skyhold.”

“But I’m—“

“You told me recently that I need not be alone to mourn. So it should—no, so it _must_ be--that you would come to me when you are lonely or in pain.”

She hesitated and then looked up, meeting his eyes. She pulled her lips tight to try to force the trembling to stop and then hurriedly nodded. 

And then she let herself relax. She sunk like a ship, gasping out a sob and burying her eyes in his chest. 

Solas wrapped his arms around her, using one hand to comb through her silvery hair, glowing warm and red in the firelight.


	3. Middle : Wake Up and Smell the Pepper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I feel I should say: I am writing this in 'real time'. I have not finished the game. I'm playing it for the first time now. I'm writing as I come along things. I don't actually know the ending. (DON'T TELL ME THOUGH). So if Solas turns out to be totally okay and not hiding anything--I'll be a little embarrassed. But I seriously don't know what it is. I've just heard it has something to do with a 'wolf'. And then I plugged my ears so I wouldn't get spoiled.
> 
>  
> 
> Also, magic having a 'scent' is something I made up. There's no indication that that's a thing in the game. I just really like the idea.

The Breach being closed was surprisingly anticlimactic. 

They went, mages in tow. She moved into the center, fighting the incredible aura of power seeping from the Breach. She felt hundreds of eyes on her, a brush of a touch on the back of her neck and the scent of metal and pepper. It was reassuring. It was still rather new, letting herself get acquainted with the scent of his magic. Before the Breach, she had never been able to detect the scent of others’ magic. Her training with Solas appeared to be paying off. He told her that her magic was stoppered up, which was no surprise. He indicated he would look into how to get around it.

 

 

But it had begun just a couple weeks before when Dorian popped up behind her, silent as a cat. And she suddenly was flooded by the heady scent of honey. For a moment, it was totally overwhelming and she had to touch the wall of the alchemist’s shop. 

He laughed, of course, leaning over her shoulder. “Oh my, felt that did you?”

She shuddered, leaning against the wall. “What…what-- _is_ \--that?”

“Honey and rose,” he told her, matter-of-factly. “I’ve been told it’s very lovely. Intoxicating.” He smirked, leaning closer to her. 

“I’ve never—it is some kind of cologne? It’s very strong.”

He peered at her. “What do you mean? I’m a mage.”

She felt her skin break out in gooseflesh and she reached out, putting a hand on his chest to push him back. “Please—step away. What does—do all mages smell like that? Or...is this a Tevinter thing? Or just you?”

Dorian smirked, not stepping away at all, crossing his arms. “Do the Dalish elves not scent such things? Aren’t you, at least, capable of producing minor magics? I know you’re a ranger, but I assumed you were, at least, an elementary mage—given your heritage.”

“I…I just began learning from Solas.”

Dorian laughed, delighted. “So I’m your first Scent! Wonderful! The scent by which you will compare all others!” He grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the alchemist’s door, ducking around the side of the building. “This explains why I’ve not been able to detect your magic!” He pushed her against the wall. “I thought perhaps it was because of the Mark.” He leaned in close—much too close—and he breathed in. “Hmmm, moss,” he said softly near her ear. “Moss and citrus. A bit electric—like a forest after a storm.”

“Please stop,” she said softly, trying to swallow passed that nauseating, cloying honey. “Dorian—“

“Did Solas not warn you? Oh, that wily elf. I’ll bet he wanted to be the first.” He grinned. “Magic is inherently physical, you know. And the connection to primal forces of nature can often affect our most base _desires_.”

She screwed her eyes shut, trembling a little.

“Like yours just did.” He laughed. “Don’t be so nervous, it’s—“

“Dorian!” She said again, helplessly. “Step away from me. It’s too much. I’ll be sick.”

The enchanter laughed again. “I’ve never seen anyone come into their magic as an adult before. How fascinating. Solas unstoppered your magic somehow? Or was it the Mark that somehow knocked it loose? Oh my, I wonder if you’ll like the scent of _his_ magic. It’s—“

She opened her eyes when Dorian cut himself off. He was backing away, hands out in front of him but still grinning like he was about to burst into laughter.

The honey and rose backed away with him and she took a trembling breath. And then got the scent of metal and pepper. Like a forge but something spicy. Something grounding. She followed Dorian’s gaze to her left and saw Solas standing at the corner of the building. His eyes had darkened to a midnight blue, glaring at Dorian. 

“Is this how you assist someone with their awakening magic?” Solas asked him. His voice was very cold, as cold as a crypt door. 

Dorian chuckled. “I was only teasing her. She’s not my type, don’t worry.” He winked and then bowed to Eckona. “Well, good luck in your studies. I’ll leave you to it.” And, laughing, he turned on his heel and headed around the _other_ side of the alchemist’s shop.

Solas’ cold expression broke and he went to her. “I’m sorry. I should have warned you. Are you all right?”

Eckona blinked away the last overwhelming wave of rose and looked up at Solas. “You….you smell like pepper and…and metal.”

His face softened. “Yes. Yours is a bit like lemon and moss.”

“I can’t smell that.”

“We often can’t—unless we use our power enough to have our blood boiling inside of us. Intense use of your magic, long-term or constant magic, berserker rage or during sex are usually the only times a mage can detect his or her own scent.” He took her hands.

She leaned on him, nose pressed against his clothes, which were thick with spice. It wasn’t like Dorian’s—overwhelming, heady, cloying, almost overpowering—it was calmer, cooler. It seemed to help settle her nerves. 

“There you are,” Solas murmured, touching her shoulders. “I did not realize you would awaken so abruptly, nor so strongly. It is a likely side-effect of the binding on your magic. I’d have warned you otherwise. I am sorry.”

She leaned back against the wall. “It’s all right—I was…just surprised, is all. Thank you. Ha.” She stood up straight. “That’s amazing. I’ve heard of it but I didn’t realize it would be so intense.”

“Perhaps you will be able to enter the Dream after all. And explore the Fade. Meet spirits.”

She couldn’t help but smile fondly. “I would love to meet some of your friends.”

He blinked and, for a moment, looked surprised. And then he smiled and it warmed his whole face like sunshine. “I would love for you to meet them.”

His eyes were polished blue again, seeping in as she met his gaze and locked with it. There was a subtle shift in his body language. It wasn’t anything she could put her finger on, exactly, but he opened himself up to her. He stepped closer, as if to say something, shoulders broader. He angled to her unconsciously, staying on one side. She responded automatically, leaning back a little against the wall, looking up at him, feeling how close he was. Her hips shifted, fingers tightening a little in his grip. 

“Well,” he said, breaking their gaze and looking aside and releasing her hands, seeming faintly uncomfortable.

She looked the opposite way. “Y-yes,” she managed. 

“Make sure you prepare yourself,” he said. “Closing the Breach will be dangerous with this Elder One looming over you.”

She looked down, wringing her hands together. “Yes. I’ll go. Ah. Do. Practice. Things.”

They both lingered an extra second and then she ducked her head and slipped away. 

 

 

Now, she was here, directly under the Breach. Hundreds of mages encircled around her. Solas stood perhaps ten yards away, directing them. She couldn’t smell anyone’s magic any more. All she could smell was the Breach—acrid and churning, sulfur and iron. 

She raised her hand and narrowed her eyes, like teal steel. She invoked the Mark. It ruptured and blasted out, up. She fought to keep her eyes from rolling back, flooded and saturated with magic from hundreds of mages. She was their medium, their director. She was the composer and the conductor. Lightening blazed and flashed, illuminating her in green and black. 

( _sickness_ )

It exploded. She was only aware of her body folding in on itself, flying into the dirt and skidding. Her lip split. 

The silence that followed was a vacuum. It was deafening. 

Cassandra was to her in a moment, grabbing the strap holding her bow. “You did it!” she said, breathlessly as she helped her stand. “You did it.”

Her body was hot and tingling as the mages’ magic receded. “Incredible,” she murmured under the cheers all around her. And then she threw up.

Cassandra laughed, though knelt sympathetically, keeping a hand on her back and using the other to hold her hair away.

“Remind me to take you with me if I ever decide to go to a tavern.”

“Your first drink tonight shall be on me, Herald.” Cassandra handed her a kerchief.

Eckona wiped her mouth, smiling faintly. “And _then_ vacation?”

“Probably not.”

“Spoil sport.”

Cassandra grinned—it made her look younger, less fierce. She clapped Eckona on the back and walked her back to Solas and Leliana. 

Their return to Haven was marked with cheers, screaming, songs, applause. The tavern opened its doors wide. Wine and mead flowed heavy tonight as the celebrations began.

 

And then the torches were spotted. And everything happened so fast that Eckona and Cassandra were scrambling down to Cullen. 

That was when Cole appeared to them. A scarecrow banging on their door—coming right to her to warn her—to warn her of…. _him_.

The Elder One.

A plated monster, vulture-like, huge and menacing and with _Templars_. 

“All right. All right,” she said as Solas and Blackwall flocked to her with their weapons. “It. This can’t get worse, right?”

“This doesn't bode well,” Solas said, unnecessarily. 

“Yes. Correct. Very astute. This is bad.”

They scattered, scrambling to help the people and they were in the thick of the fighting around the trebuchets and then a fucking _dragon_ flew over them.

“Fucking tits!” Sera cried out.

“ _What!_ You have _got_ to be kidding!” Eckona flailed, lowering her bow. “Go! Run! RUN!” She grabbed Sera by her shirt, shoving the other elf ahead of her as they flew back to the Chantry.

Eckona couldn’t remember what happened afterwards. It was a whirlwind of planning and shoving the dying Roderick with the Scarecrow Boy and ordering Cullen to get everyone out. She found herself back at the trebuchet. Despite her insistence that they go with Cullen—Solas, Blackwall and Cassandra came with her. 

But they were all swept away when the Elder One came. Where had they gone? What had happened? She didn’t know. She just found herself alone, a dragon on one side, this Elder One on the other. 

_You are never as tall as when you stand up for yourself, da'len._

She stood her ground. She was shaking from head to foot, both scared as a rabbit and angry as a hornet. 

A mistake. A monster. An acrid stench of burning flesh and death. She _felt_ his anger when he could not extract the Mark from her. This Anchor. 

He would kill her now. It was a dead certainty in her chest. And perhaps that was what made her throw all caution to the wind and release the last trebuchet. She had to laugh at the absurdity.

She _did_ laugh at the absurdity. The Elder One and his dragon politely watching the rock slam into the mountainside as if she were giving them a particularly dull presentation. And her using their distraction to run. _Run_. It was ludicrous. She laughed, bellowing with it as she leapt over the road’s edge. Her hysterical laughter drowned out by the collapse of the earth around them. 

Wherever the others were—hopefully they were out of Haven. She could die if they were, at least, safe.

 

But to her surprise, she woke up. 

Everything hurt. Her feet and hands and her _eyelashes_ hurt. Miraculously, she wasn’t bleeding much (most of it was caked to the left side of her face) and no bones seemed broken but everything hurt. The cavern she’d fallen in was unknown to her. She staggered out into a snowstorm. 

Luckily for her (though not for the owners), a wagon was nearby. Hopefully, it belonged to people she knew. At this point, if she wasn’t dead _now_ , she may as well keep walking. 

There was a trail—snow stamped down by hundreds of feet. Sometimes, there was a bundle of clothes or a body. She pulled a cloak off a dead woman, apologizing silently before moving on. Her fingers and toes felt heavy, like wood. Like heavy metal clubs. She was dizzy and sick and both too hot and too cold at the same time. She lost all sense of time and place, just following the stamped snow. Her breath was sharp and painful in her chest, wind and snow blinded her, hindered her. Her bow was snapped and her quiver was full of ice and broken arrows. Her eyes were streaming and she had to keep wiping them so tears wouldn’t freeze to her face. 

There must have been other stragglers? An old campfire, cold and dead, at one point. Farther on, another—but with faint embers. When she crested the hill, she shook, a strangled cry of relief choking out her throat. A settlement. At this point, who fucking cared whose it was. Who fucking cared who—

“There she is!” Cullen shouted. Cullen? Was it Cullen? It sounded like Cullen but it was hard to tell over the wind. She might be hallucinating. Nothing could be real at all. Even the settlement could be an illusion. 

“Thank the Maker!” 

_Cassandra_ , she tried to say. But nothing came out. She collapsed to her knees and suddenly her nose was full of metal and pepper and then another scent that she instinctively knew, somehow, was Cullen. It was drier, like sandalwood. _All the Templars smell like that._

The commander picked her up, scooping her into his arms and turned on his heel to hurry back down the hillside. 

 

Solas kept his distance but he watched the tent the commander deposited her in. Cullen stepped out and allowed Leliana and Josephine to go in. They stripped the Herald. Leliana brought out her armor and clothes to dry out at the fire. Josephine covered the Herald with furs and blankets. Adan entered to check the Herald for frostbite and other ailments. 

Sera crossed her arms, pacing around the campsite. Varrick took the Herald’s bow and quiver. He set about getting the ice and broken arrows out of it. Cassandra paced too, agitated and restless. Blackwall sat by the fire to examine the Herald’s armor and start repairing it. 

Only the Iron Bull seemed truly calm. He lounged by the main fire. “You elves always smell like sparks. She’ll live. She’d tell your Maker or whoever to his face to fuck off.”

The Herald did not awaken until the next night. Josephine redressed her and Cullen carried her outside to the fire so they would know when she awoke.

Still, Solas could not seem to quiet his nerves until he saw her sit up next to Mother Giselle. She looked so slender and small. So…small. 

That was, perhaps, when he knew he was in too deep.


	4. Middle: Afraid of the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas/Lavellan  
> \------------  
> 
> 
> Note: None of these chapters are necessarily intended to be linear. They are cataloging moments inbetween two events. (The Before and the After). In our lives--we sometimes have events that change the direction of our lives. These events bookend whatever came before and after into separate spaces. The sense of time becomes lost because those life-changing events are the most memorable. Everything else becomes moments.
> 
> EDIT: At least that was the idea initially. Then I just decided to keep writing and develop a story to go along with it.

Josephine entered the library. It was very late into the night and her candle flickered, making shadows dance along the walls. Most of the keep was asleep, save for the guards on the wall and Commander Cullen—who was pacing restlessly along the ramparts (his lyrium withdrawal was getting bad lately). She had just finished reading over an extensive treaty with Orlais. Oh, she loved and hated this work. It was her life and her mind was so robust and agile—it would seem a waste to give it all up. Besides, who else was there that could negotiate like she could? 

She wanted only a single book—on Orlais law and stipulations regarding Wardens—so she might put it at her desk to be ready in the morning. Blackwall was a good source of information but he was rather solitary to the Wardens. And honestly, she sometimes tired of his constant self-depreciation. It got a bit old. It was like a narcissist—just because you believed the opposite direction, didn’t mean you weren’t just as deluded. 

She turned a corner, clever eyes pinning through volumes until she spotted the slender, yellow leather-bound book. “Perfect,” she said to it softly and turned around. She did love the smell of books. She glanced across the railing and paused. 

There was….something there.

Josephine slipped the book into her bag and held her candle out, slowly making her way closer.

It was the Inquisitor. The elf was slumped onto a small reading table, sprawling across a huge volume of a book Josephine immediately recognized as _Orlais Politics After the Fifth Blight_. The Inquisitor had not gotten very far, apparently. Her cheek was pressed upon the middle page of the fifth chapter. In her hand, a quill was tilting precariously over a bottle of ink. Josephine gently removed it. She lowered her candle to the table. There was parchment scattered under the book with notes and scrawls and little diagrams. 

Josephine couldn’t help but smile a little. The Inquisitor was certainly trying hard to learn about the human kingdoms. For an elf who’d spent her whole life wandering with no formal education, the gaps in her knowledge must be vast. She had no interest in the Game; indeed, she seemed to dislike it immensely but—she was trying to learn it anyway. 

“The poor thing,” Josephine murmured, putting her candle down and gathering up the parchments to put them in a neat stack.

Except for one. It caught her eye only because it was different from the other notes and there were only a few words on it. 

_Falon’Din_.

Josephine peered at the word, written in the Inquisitor’s cramped scrawl. That was the elven god of Death, if she remembered correctly. Perhaps the Inquisitor wished to explore her elven roots, as well. There was certainly no problem with that. The Dalish didn’t have any traveling libraries—likely, she knew little of her own people.

Which might explain her intense attachment to Solas. (It was sweet, really, watching him fumble—uncertain of what to do about her.) The two elves’ initial conversations about the Dalish had not exactly been pleasant—for as wise and worldly as Solas seemed, there were times when he was just as prejudice and stubborn as the nobility in Orlais. But she was so desperate to learn—if only she could cram more knowledge into her brain and Solas appeared to respect her for that. The Inquisitor had picked up the nobility charts fairly well—enough that she navigated the ballroom at the Winter Palace without being challenged to duels or having anyone shout obscenities at her. She had taken to the knowledge of the underworld fairly quickly too—it wasn’t that different from the nobility really. Arcane knowledge seemed to fascinate the Inquisitor, again, likely related to her stilted knowledge about her own people. 

Just a few months now of training with Solas and she was eagerly eating up every book she could find about the Arcane. The addition of Dorian and Vivienne seemed to encourage the ranger even further. Though she was less direct at asking them anything, she merely observed them more. Perhaps the Inquisitor was a little intimidated by Vivienne’s incredible beauty and obvious knowledge of politics and Dorian was; well, Dorian. 

Josephine carefully shifted the large volume from under the Inquisitor’s head, letting it rest on the table. The young woman shifted, making a small sound but not waking. Josephine marked her place and closed the book. 

She looked again at the stack of notes. _Falon’Din_. The Friend of the Dead. 

Josephine picked up her candle and walked along the mezzanine, looking over the packed bookshelves. Politics, magic, history, philosophy, literature—the Inquisitor had insisted that all the children in the Keep learn their letters. It gave the Chantry members here something to do and kept both out of everyone’s hair. The library was expanding almost exponentially. The Inquisitor bought books whenever she was traveling and always brought them back to the library. Merchants, mages, scholars, the Chantry, anyone who brought books with them were invited to donate them to the library or the Inquisitor would offer to buy them. 

Josephine went down an aisle, looking over names until she found one entitled: _Ancient Elves and the Creator Gods_.

Her fingers slipped it out. It was green, leather-bound and smelled musty. Wherever it had come from—it had survived some hardship. The back cover was warped from water damage but the majority of the pages were intact. She took the book back over to the table and laid it down at the Inquisitor’s hand. It wasn’t an extensive book. Much of the information, history and lore about the elven had been lost over centuries of slavery in Tevinter and war with humans. But it had a basic foundation and some history. Josephine had read it herself when she learned that the Inquisitor was elven. 

The Ambassador looked at the young woman—her sharp features and her silvery-white hair—a curling tattoo around her right eye. Her nose was long and had a little bit of a hook at the end. She was not beautiful in a traditional sense. She seemed perpetually waifish but there was strength in her jawline. Her sharp features could cut like ice but her eyes could be soft and warm too. When she smiled, her face brightened, softened. Like the lingering looks she trailed after Solas when she thought no one was observing her (honestly, hearing how clumsy the Inquisitor became when dealing with the scholarly elf charmed and amused Josephine so much that she always asked Cassandra about it when they returned from traveling). 

But when she fought, when she stared down Corypheus—there was fire in her eyes that wouldn’t be smothered. She was very different in battle versus her every day attitude around the Keep.

But lately she had seemed tired, defeated. Like nothing would ever change for the better. Josephine covered the elf with her cloak, picked up her yellow book and left the library, closing the door as silently as she could. 

 

 

Eckona awoke hours later. She opened her eyes to a pair of over-large faded blue barely five inches from her. She jerked, grabbing onto the table. “Cole—gods—you—“

Cole smiled a little. “It makes you laugh inside. Makes us all laugh.”

“You scared me half to death,” she told him, unable to fight a grin.

“You like that among friends. To gently tease is how some show love. Baring, bearing, burdens become easier to bear. When you laugh, it is lighter.”

“We like to laugh, Cole. Do you?”

“I do not understand it. But I want to.”

“Then you’re already half-way ahead of the storytellers in Orlais.” She sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Oh, I’m still in the library. That’s good, I guess.”

“The books whispered and told me you were here. Many stories, many hands, many touches. All connected to the dust.” 

“Are there books in the Fade?”

“Reflections of books. Books as they thought they were.”

“Sounds about right,” Eckona agreed and then did a double-take. A green book was lying by her hand. _Ancient Elves and the Creator Gods_. Eckona picked it up.

“That book has many touches, many hands, little story. There are few who live that remember.”

She glanced at Cole. “…but the ancient elves are gone, Cole. No one is alive who could remember them.”

Cole peered at her, his pale blue eyes seeming to stare straight through her. It gave Eckona a vaguely uneasy feeling. _No one is alive who could remember them….right?_

“Did Solas leave it here?” she asked instead, shifting under that penetrating gaze.

Cole shook his head. “He left the coffee. It’s cold now. He touched your hair and said he would return but he didn’t.”

“Oh. I—well—I’m sure he had other things to do than watch me sleep.”

“He knows about sleep,” Cole agreed (?), very sagely.

She looked at the book, at the faded leaf lettering indicating its title, the weathered cover and dog-eared corners. “I wonder who did leave it.”

“She was forced, you know? She doesn’t want to marry him.”

Eckona did a double-take at Cole. “What?”

“People should be happy. She wasn’t. She ran away.”

She looked at him, considering but nothing about the words seemed to indicate anyone in particular. She picked up the tiny cup with its strong, black coffee. She downed it in a gulp.

“Now it won’t be lonely.”

She half-smiled. “Would you like to try some cake, Cole?” 

“I don’t need to eat,” he reminded her. 

_Probably the most straight-forward thing he’s ever said._

“I can’t punch Corypheus in the face—but I can still try.”

He seemed to think about that and she felt him follow her when she picked up the little cup and headed down to the kitchens. She went to the larder and cut off a small piece of lemon cake with glaze and little strawberries on the top.

“Here,” she said, setting the plate down on the table. “Try it.”

He sat down, taking the fork she offered and poking the cake. “You offer cake because you don’t know how to answer the questions in your mind. But you don't want me to go away, either.”

She glanced sidelong at him as she opened up a roll of cloth to take a piece of bread. “What do you mean, Cole?”

“You want to ask him. You’re dying to ask him. You want to know and feel the fire and burn and purge of his magic all around you. You want him to take you into the Fade. To _take_ you in the Fade. To show you all the secrets and stories and come to love the Fade as he does but you’re afraid he won’t. You’re afraid he’s false. It’s a white-burn, brighter when you dream about him. In your head he’s the same but different. He wants the fire as much as you do. You want to feel everything but what if he doesn’t. You want him to make you feel small and trust him to put you back together.”

“Cole,” she said faintly, turning to face him.

“But more than that. You want to ask why he doesn’t dream near the Breach and look for memories there.”

She stiffened, her breath jammed in her throat.

“But you don’t want to be suspicious. It’s like a little candle, burning jumping dancing flame. It wants to be a roaring fire but you can’t let it. In case you are burnt—”

“Cole!” She tried to cut him off.

He stood up again, peering at her, staring at her, seeing _through_ her. “What began to see what was wrong with him has now become what is wrong with _you_. You did not expect to find yourself in his howling heart. Is it love or lies or life or the little sounds of twittering birds that are pulled into water and drowned?”

She put the bread down. “Cole. Stop—please, stop it.”

“It scares you so deeply—the dark, the darkness everywhere. Mama, why are you still? Are you dreaming at the Crossroads? Cold and hurting and lonely and _why can’t someone help_ and why doesn’t he relate to any of the elves-- _what does that mean?_ Who are his people? Bright and sad in solace with Solas? It’s choking. It’s choking because you _want_ him and _why are you afraid to want him_? Shouldn’t it be the opposite?”

She stared at him. She was shaking. He looked at the table and sat down again, picking up the fork and taking a bite of the cake. He mashed it in his mouth, examining the texture and flavor and looking thoughtful about it. “The cake isn’t real like me but it still tastes good.”

She picked up the green book and turned away, walking out of the kitchens. Her stomach was turning, suddenly dizzy and faint. 

She made it back to her quarters before she sunk down onto her couch at the fireplace. 

The sunrise was glorious but all she could think about was the dark. Afraid of the dark. 

She stood up and took off her cloak. She put on trousers, shirt, and slippers and went downstairs. He was staying downstairs, underneath the main floor. It was warmer there. It was dark there.

The candles had been lit. 

Her shadows stretched far and thin along the wall and floor. When she reached his door, she touched it gently. She sensed his presence, sensed the quiet intensity burning in his chest. 

She fought herself a moment and then raised her knuckles, rapping them gently on the door.

Her heart was beating too fast.

It was going to burst.

He opened his door and their eyes met. 

He tilted his head, examining her. “….Eckona. Are you….all right?”

“Yes,” she breathed, soft.

His eyes flicked to the hallway and then at her face. “Would you—ah, come in?” He stepped back.

She entered, looking over and watching him close the door. She could feel his eyes.

“ _Vhenan?_ ” he asked quietly. “….are you…. _sure_ you’re all right?”

She was burning up like an alchemist’s fire inside but she shivered. “I’m too hot. I’m too cold,” she said, breathlessly. Her voice dropped to something husky, low.

“What do you—“

She grabbed him by the collar and yanked him down. The kiss was harsh, brutal, fighting and dark. He made a small sound of surprise. She shoved him back into an armchair and straddled his lap. She kissed him again, breathing against his mouth, fingernails digging into his scalp.

She pressed him against the back of the chair, all but climbing inside of him. She heard him breath in sharply, stifling a gasp and hands lighting onto her hips. She liked them there, liked how they felt there. Liked how the points of his fingers made her skin hot. She grabbed his shirt and pulled up, peeling it off of him and throwing it aside. She shuddered, feeling bare skin, hands traveling over him while her mouth chased down and tackled his.

She slipped down, kissing his ear, his throat. Heard him make another quiet sound and then tried to say her name. He trailed off when she leaned up, glaring into his eyes. The green was almost all black, dilated pupils and something else, something…darker.

“Eckona—“

She slapped him. Not hard. But it shocked him into silence. He stared at her, dumbfounded. 

“Come on, you coward.”

His eyes darkened. His fingers coiled into her hair and yanked her back to him, mouths rasping against each other. He stood, hooking his other arm under her and tossing her onto his bed. He started to kneel down to her but she grabbed him, slamming him down on his back and straddling him again. She looked down her nose at him, intense and hot and burning, eyes swallowing each other as she undid his belt. He flinched when she loosened his trousers, slipping a hand inside. He choked off a sound, fingers sliding down over her chest and grabbing her around the waist. He rolled her over, pinning her down and working her shirt off. In a flash, she was up and on him again, grinding down against his lap. His hands slid up her spine and she arched into it. 

She smelled lemon suddenly. Lemon poppy seed bread. 

Her eyes rolled back. Then forward, and then she rolled them over to work at his trousers. He helped and in a flash, they were both bare. Except one thing.

That strange jaw bone he wore around his throat.

She wrapped her fingers around it. Felt its teeth bite into her flesh, bite into her hand, tear the skin—and she jerked it off of him, snapping the leather throng and throwing it away. Her hand was torn, bloody. She planted it on the side of his face where the blood mixed with pepper and metal into something coppery and overwhelming. The scent of blood made his eyes spark. 

Their mouths met, mixing in blood and hot breath. Blood smeared in sweat, over her breast and catching at her nipple. She bit his lip. He drug fingernails down her back when she straddled him again, sinking onto him rough and fast. She grunted, eyes hot and restless and wild. Her blood was streaked across his throat as he grabbed her hips, pulled her up and slammed her down again. 

Their mouths struggled to keep together, catching on breaths and desperate bites. Their magic was frothing between them, revving and harsh and crackling. He grabbed her by the hair and shoved her down onto her back. He bit her throat, feeling how the pain racked through her, made her tighten up around him, how her pleasure and magic were spiking and her whole body molded up to him. He smelled blood again and his eyes were sparking and his magic was _singing_ and _surging_. Her bloody hand fell to her own cheek, smearing down her jaw and coating her throat. His mouth followed, sucking hard on her skin and all the while, thrusting, pushing until he reached singular intensity and hurrying to take her with him.

She didn’t try to quell her cry this time. Her muscles rippled and her eyes screwed shut and she _came_ around him. It ravaged them. The aftershocks making her twitch, making him moan. 

And then he collapsed on top of her. He put his hands on her back, gently rolling onto his side and drawing her in closer. They were tangled up together: limbs and fingers and magic.


	5. Middle : Peculiar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eurchari is something I made up.
> 
> And yeah, its based on Euchre, a card game popular in the midwest.

“Ah yes,” said Vivenne, magnificent in her stark white gown. It made her black skin luster and glow. “Solas. So much knowledge and so little personal history. I do find that _peculiar_.”

Eckona stiffened a little. She kept her eyes on the window.

“Don’t you think so, my dear?”

Eckona swallowed, wetting her lips. She opened her mouth to answer but…nothing came out.

“Oh my,” said the First Enchanter, tone shifting to interest. “You _do_ think so.”

Eckona felt her chest constrict.

“How sad for you,” Vivienne went on, not sounding sad at all. “The lingering looks were so sweet and very _charged_. I would never have suspected you to be so observant. Perhaps there’s hope for you after all, my dear.”

Eckona looked down at the floor.

“Ah, that is where you fail—you must keep your confidence. Even if you don’t have it—you must pretend. Still, it would be interesting to see who else might suspect something. I do hope he’s on your side—not just between your sheets.”

Her eyes narrowed at the floor, feeling a spike of anger.

“You ought to wear vanilla behind your ears, or mint in your bodice—it would complement the lemon when you can’t keep control of your emotions.”

Her fingers curled into fists.

"Sweetling, don't be angry. I imagine you hoped you had misunderstood. Men are simple creatures. Typically, whatever your first instinct about them--it is usually true. Has no one else said anything?"

She looked over sidelong, glimpsing only the skirts of Vivienne's resplendent dress. 

"No? Then when did you notice it?" Vivienne's tone gentled a little.

Having it be a thought, hidden in the dark corners of her mind was much preferable to this. Eckona had never thought Vivienne would have the same suspicion she did. Saying it out loud would make it very real. 

"Goodness, was it so early on that you're afraid to admit it?" Vivienne's magic, rich and dark like caramel, brushed against her own.

Eckona opened her mouth, intending to argue, to deny--but again, nothing came out.

"Sometimes, silence is all the answer another needs, my dear. Did you intend to watch him?" 

Vivienne's voice got closer. Eckona could feel her presence, her dress shifting against her shirt. 

"And you watched him so much that you fell for him?" There was a lilt to the question. Clearly, she knew the answer and was amused by it.

Her throat was almost too tight to breath.

"How unexpectedly dramatic," Vivienne said wistfully. "My dear, when this bad business is over, do come find me again. I could teach you many things. Never fall too hard for a man. They pretend not to know--but they always do."

And with that, the rich caramel retreated and Vivienne walked away.

Eckona looked up finally, watching the exquisite sorceress glide across the floor. She wanted to spit, to curse, to throw lightening at her, to fry that perfect face. But she couldn't. 

She stomped away, hoofing it downstairs and across the battlements to Cullen's office. He was not there. She eventually found him with Dorian, playing a chess game. Poor Cullen almost fell out of his chair when he saw her. She raised a hand to stop him. "Don't let me interrupt."

Dapper Dorian was ensuring his victory, even as he lost. He accepted it gracefully enough--rather moreso than Eckona expected. Though he surprised her by leaving quickly. 

Cullen gestured to the board. "Care for a game."

"Prepare the troops. I'm not very good at this," she warned him, smiling a little.

"My sister used to beat me all the time. It takes practice. My brother and I practiced over and over until I could beat her. I still relish the look on her face when I finally won."

She smiled, a little more genuinely, and sat down. "I started learning just a few years ago. My first time in a human city--I came across some other elves that insisted on teaching me. They said it would help me make friends."

"Did it?"

"Not yet but I smoked them all at Eurchari."

"That's a Dalish card game, isn't it?" He asked as he finished resetting the board.

"Yes--good for long days and nights of travel. It can be a little complicated though--and if you're human and you're playing with elves for the first time, you have to expect them to cheat."

"People are the same all over," he said consolingly. "You'll have to teach me sometime."

That made her chuckle a little. "Well--I--certainly. I could teach you. I'll teach you how to play, ha, and then I'll teach you how to win."

"Cheating?" he asked, grinning as he moved his pawn.

"Cheating. Elves _hate_ losing to humans."

"You won't be making me any friends, then?"

She grinned at the board. "No--but they'll know you were taught by a real Dalish elf and not a city elf."

"Do you see it as that different?" he asked.

Her fingers skimmed over the wooden pieces. "No. Not really..." she sighed a little. "Between Solas and Sera--I might be the only one around here who _doesn't_ hate other elves."

"You know, that surprised me a lot. Out of anyone--I would have thought Solas would appreciate the Dalish. But then, maybe I assumed he _was_ Dalish. He doesn't strike me as a city elf."

"I don't think he's either but he's very close-lipped about where he actually came from. I thought he'd been classically trained in a Circle. But...I don't think he actually was now that I've met Vivienne."

"Yes--I spent a great deal of time in a Circle. He's very different from them. They would never have allowed him to go off on his own like he does. Researching spirits and vacationing in the Fade or whatever else he does."

"Right?" she agreed, half-smiling. "Should we ask him how the weather is there?"

"Terrifying here in the Fade, Inquisitor. Chance of blood rain and wrath of the Black City en route."

That made her sputter, bursting into laughter.

"Spirits will definitely attempt to possess your body and you will be helpless to control anything you do afterwards," Cullen added in a false, cheerful voice. "But don't worry, this weekend all your worst childhood memories will move in and destroy your mind."

"So umbrella? Or should I pack the heavy leathers?"

That set the two of them laughing, keeping on as they played, each statement more ridiculous than the last. 

"And if you see any giant holes in the sky--don't have a worry! It's only the inevitability of death and the void, coming to devour you! Paint an anchor on your hand and you'll be ready to bust these demons straight back to Arlathan!"

"More like Val Royeaux."

"Cullen, you know there isn't any room left in Val Royeaux! They're completely booked up!"

"Demon Conference," he told her, in a false, snooty voice. "Past hundred years and such, my lady, and due to continue for the next few hundred. Fancy clothes and perfume required."

"Bring fifty or more servants and win a fabulous golden chamber pot."

Their laughter peeled out over the small garden area. She lounged back in her chair, boots off and stretching her toes on the sun-warmed stone.

"It's rather nice to talk about something other than the Inquisition."

She was studying the board. "Are you letting me win? Because I think you are. There's no way I got that castle over there."

"I am."

"Stop it--don't take pity on me. And also--I...I'd like to think we're all friends here. Hopefully." She bit her lip and moved her queen. "Maybe we can drop some of the formalities."

"Then we should do this sort of thing more often. It...feels good to laugh."

She looked up from the board and caught the expression on his face. It was warm, soft. 

"It's just so easy with you," he told her.

Her mouth opened, uncertain for a moment. "Oh, I. Well." She looked at the board again. "I do need to learn to play better if I'm ever going to beat you for real."

"You won't," he warned her.

"Just wait until I teach you Eurchari then. My revenge will be swift."

“I look forward to it.”

Inexplicably, she felt the tips of her ears get hot. “Well—I’d best…go.”

 

 

 

Going involved getting a group together to travel the Emerald Graves. Eckona had traveled close to the border but had never been there herself and she was surprised to find it littered with elven ruins. Still, that was encouraging and interesting. Now that she had the chance to learn as much as she could cram into her head, she was going to take full advantage. On her shoulder, she now carried a small satchel. It contained a handmade, hide-bound book, full of creamy paper that she’d sewn into the binding. Josephine, of course, had remarked on the craftsmanship and then offered to order professional journals from Redcliffe or Val Royeaux. 

“Looks that bad, eh?”

“Of course not, Inquisitor,” Josephine said instantly. 

She settled for asking Josephine to bring some bookbinders to the Keep instead. 

The first few pages were a brief account of events up to this point and a page or two on each of her inner circle and advisors. A few others were drawings. She was no artist, certainly—but she had an eye for details. Her anchor, some of Iron Bull’s tattoos, Solas’ ears.

Now that she thought about it—his ears _were_ longer than most other elves and his eyes were smaller, more narrow. 

She glanced at him from her horse. Where _was_ he from? Perhaps he was of mixed blood? That might explain why he’d never been forced into a Circle but then…

_So much knowledge and so little personal history…_

She shook the thoughts from her mind.

“They will be mixed up and blended. A hot breath on your cheek, but hands cold and clammy. There’s spider webs in the spider webs and the moon gazes down with one giant, brilliant eye—like a great pearl. It sees everything, it knows everything. It is only a reflection though. Not the truth.”

Sera groaned. “Tits up, what the fuck is it talking about?”

“Don’t call him an _it_ , Sera.”

“But I am an it.”

Eckona looked over to Cole, who was staring at her. “Not to me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with something not being a man or a woman.”

“I believe she rather means that you are a _person_ to her, Cole. Not a thing but an idea.” Solas interjected.

“Really? She thinks I'm a good idea?” Cole asked Solas, sounding faintly astounded.

“Why yes, you’ve made a remarkable impression on the Inquisitor—and all of us.”

Sera rolled her eyes. “He’s a boy. He has a bits and everything.”

“Sera!” Eckona turned sharply in her saddle. 

“What! I _asked_ him!”

“Gods—dammit—Sera! You don’t just—“

“Lookit you, being all coy,” Sera grinned, bursting into laughter. “She who howls like a wolf when she sneaks down to Solas’ room in the wee morning hours.”

Eckona’s mouth snapped shut. She felt her whole face get hot, stuttering for an answer and just cursing to herself instead. 

“That sounds pretty good,” Iron Bull said. “Nice work, Solas. Wouldn’t have thought you’d have it in you.”

“Pshhht,” Sera grunted. “Yeah, right. It’s typical—yeah. Elven Inquisitor, poncy scholar—bump bits to repopulate the Elven race or whatever, right? For the good of all elves or something?”

“No,” said Cole, voice full of awe as always, “no—it’s not that at all. She feels him. Like a bright and burning star, a sun.”

“Oh, no,” Eckona muttered. “No, nonono.”

Dorian burst out laughing.

“She wants to know more about elves but Solas is not another of the same. He’s burning inside. Burning like a roaring flame, tied to him like chain and string and ribbon to break—so strong and yet so fragile—“

“Oh, Marker's Breath.” Eckona was shaking her head at her horse’s mane, feeling her cheeks flame hot and red.

“You don’t believe in the Maker—you believe in—“

“Cole,” Solas interrupted. “That will suffice.”

“Oh,” said Cole, peering around at the rest of them curiously.

There was a beat of silence.

“Well!” Eckona said, far too loudly. “I’m going to…leave my horse and. Go. Explore. I’ll be back later.”

“I bet ya will,” Sera snarked.

“Shut up, Sera,” Eckona huffed and got down once they reached the camp. She brushed the sturdy beast and then grabbed up her pack and bow.

Solas automatically came to her side. Cole drifted behind him as he gazed around at the trees, as if he heard music in them. She left it up to the others to decide who else might want to come. Iron Bull volunteered immediately. He was bored. And a bored Iron Bull left behind with Sera and Dorian was potential trouble. The Tevinter noble was just fine staying at the camp and so Sera tagged along as well.

The Emerald Graves were full of magnificent trees. This forest was thick with magic and memory. Like a tingling on the edge of her mind when they crossed the old ruins and ancient statues of the Old Gods. She checked her map, unfolding it into a small wedge and checking the position of the sun before heading east. She purposely sought out elven ruins. She wanted to see what they might contain. Dalish clans knew so little of the ancient elves.

“Din’an Hanin,” she read softly from her map. “This is where Cullen marked it. It’s—“

“It’s full of corpses,” Iron Bull said, flat and somber.

She looked up, taking attention away from her map and pulling herself up to crest the hill with Iron Bull. He was right. The area was scattered with bodies—still fresh and wearing uniforms and armor. “Those are ours…” 

She stowed her map and went sliding down the other side to hurry into the ruins. 

The corpses still had flies on them. She knelt to one, gently lifting the side of his face. “His skull has been smashed. Who could have--” and then she smelled something _rotten_ , something besides the death. Something bloody and pulped and sickly like rotting wood. She stood up and unhooked her bow from her back, slinking around a corner and onto a landing. “Ugh, _Venatori_ ,” she spit. 

“Let’s get ‘em!” Sera beamed and pulled her bow around.

“But they’re so small,” Iron Bull huffed.

“Think of ‘em like appetizers,” Sera advised. “Main course is later.”

“Hmm. Good point.” He grinned and drew his battle axe. The monstrosities created by the Red Lyrium seemed to satisfy Iron Bull very much. 

When they were dead, Solas’ sharp eyes caught a glint of something. He picked it up from the ground. Eckona leaned over to look. “Some kind of Dalish seal?” She said. “Do they know what it does?”

“Don’t care! They want it, we get it first,” Sera declared.

“You’re like a kid who wants toys someone else has because you don’t have them,” Iron Bull told her, looking amused. “You don’t even care what they are.”

“Yep!”

“All the looking. They wanted to look. They wanted to find it and help. They are so hungry for it. They cannot stand the music it makes but they’re so hungry for it,” Cole told them. 

A magnificent statue of a strong woman was near the entrance. The inscription was in Elvish, which Eckona could translate—though she still wasn’t certain who it referred to.

Solas did not hesitate. “The Emerald knights,” he said. “Romantic heroes or heartless butchers depending on your side. Perhaps it was both.”

“Ugh,” Sera rolled her eyes.

“You just know that?” Iron Bull asked him. “Some decrepit temple in the middle of nowhere and you just happen to know—“

“Well, Harding _did_ say something about the elven knights when we arrived, Bull,” Eckona threw in. 

More Venatori were inside to make quick work of. Despite the danger from radical cultists, the Inquisitor couldn’t help but look around. So much history was here—and so much of it destroyed. Who knew what might be here? 

Under a smashed shelf, she found a book. _The Fall of Arlathan_. “Oh, look—it’s a written recording of an oral history by Gisharel. Hmm. Keeper of the Ralaferin clan of Dalish elves.” She paged through it as they walked, stowing it in her bag when they found more cultists so she could read it completely later.

“Beautiful, beautiful sadness. And dead,” Cole told them.

Iron Bull looked sidelong at the young man. “You’re kind of….odd. Aren’t you?”

“Am I?” Cole asked him.

Behind a locked door, Eckona found a magnificent painting. Perhaps this was one of the Emerald Knights? A representation of their power and skill. Naked, back to them, looking over his shoulder with a raised scimitar and a shield. 

“He’s not _that_ impressive,” Iron Bull said when Eckona insisted on stopping to note it in her journal.

“If he had tits and was facing forward, it’d be better,” Sera drawled.

“I can’t argue with that,” Bull agreed.

“Shut up,” Eckona told them, fighting back a laugh. “Go find a Lyrium monster to eat.”

“You know, Solas—you might look rather fierce if you tried a sword and shield instead of a staff,” Bull said, studying the wall painting. “It kind of looks like you.”

Solas huffed, putting his hands on his hips and shaking his head.

“Tch—ask Inquisi-lady then. She might be the only one who can say just how _much_ he might resemble it.”

Eckona threw her hands up. “Okay! Out! Get out!” She pointed with her charcoal pencil.

Sera burst out laughing and danced out of the chamber.

“Go find more seals or something to fight!” 

The two scampered and Cole wandered after them. 

Solas stayed standing next to her. She laughed a little. “You know, you are plenty fierce with just the staff.”

Solas smirked over at her. “You would know, I suppose.”

“I can give you my thesis on it, if you like.”

He glanced up at the wall painting. “Perhaps when we return to Skyhold.”

Giggles burst out of her and she leaned her head on his shoulder a moment before straightening up again to finish sketching. He planted a heated, breathy kiss near her ear when she did and then turned and walked out.

“You are such a tease.”

He winked.

 

 

 

Later, the true story of Red Crossing in hand, several additions to Eckona’s journal made, they made their way out of the tombs.

“My people built a life here,” Solas suddenly said, soft and thoughtful. “It must have been something to see.”

Eckona did a slight double-take, peering at him curiously. He’d never said anything like that before—even with the other ruins they’d explored together. He had always seemed so distant about elven culture—Dalish elves in particular. Was he talking about the Ancient Elves? And if so—why was he talking like he was the only elf present? She and Sera were both here too. 

But Sera did not seem to notice and neither did the others.

_So much knowledge and so little personal history…._

Perhaps she could have let it go if that was the only thing he said. But a few days later, they were at the Dread Wolf Shrine in the Exalted Plains and he called one of the warding devices…. _artifacts of my people_.

She’d activated tons of these artifacts to strengthen the Veil (well, according to _him_ , they strengthened the Veil). He had never _once_ referred to them as being of _his_ people. They were simply _elven_.

But there was nothing inherently wrong with his statement. They were elven. He was elven. Just…to suddenly differentiate—had the Tombs made such an impression on him that he had suddenly found new respect for elven culture? That seemed incredibly unlikely—given they had spent hours discussing the stuff and he had never deviated until now. 

But what could she say? There was no reason it should strike her as odd. 

But it did.

Words were funny things. Casual language and slips of it could reveal things that people did not intend. But there was no reason to…suspect anything. Maybe it was nothing. She commented on it in her journal anyway to try and get it out of her head. 

_Peculiar._


	6. Middle : Reverent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas/Lavellan  
> \------------
> 
> "And that thing is Compassion. To give fools a second chance to learn from their mistakes. Without compassion—neither of us would be here today."

She could never had expected this. It sounded like most of the other missions. Go to fort, fight demons, get someone back on track. Except in this case, the Grey Wardens were the ones off-track. Yes, this was about Corypheus but…but there were limits. There were rules. There…

There were dragons.

There were—there was death and destruction and how the hell had she _opened_ a rift into the Fade? Had she _always_ been able to do that? Oh, no, poor Cole. Poor Cole. If she’d only known—if she’d only kept him back this time—but she hadn’t….hadn’t thought. Hadn’t _known_ …

And Solas—Solas and his…he was fascinated. She wanted to shake him. She wanted to scream at him. Wanted to demand to know if he was living in this world or in the fucking Fade. He was fascinated—everyone else was terrified. Including herself—she’d never seen anything like the Fade, save for the glimpses at Redcliffe. 

_Run little dear. Run from the Blight._

Chains and manacles and tying horrors and ropes and heavy, cold stone and iron was weighing down everything. And at the very base, the heaviest weight of all—was _fear_. Given form, she could fight it. She could shoot her arrows and use the power of the Mark. She could pretend it was just another _thing_ to take down. Of everything trying to kill her—just another giant spider. Just another violent shade. Anything to numb the terrible weight on her chest. Let her body take over, to flip and turn and pour her energy into fighting, physical, anything to shut her mind down. To shield it from the reality around her. 

Even the image of the Divine couldn’t calm her. She was angry in a flash, biting back, demanding answers, and desperately attempting to justify her terror and rage. Her _fears_ and her _desires_. What did the others see? What did Blackwall see? What did poor Cole see? Already frazzled and damaged and the poor boy—why did she take him with her to fight. Why did she bring him along? Was that against his nature? He ought to be back at Skyhold, helping cats dance and finding puppies to play with. He deserved that—why had she forced him to come along? 

( _You didn’t. I came because I--_ )

Could she have made a right choice between Stroud and Hawke? She hadn’t known either of them hardly at all but Hawke was Varric’s _friend_. 

_Why couldn’t I save him?_

But Stroud was…

Neither of them deserved to die. Neither of them should have stayed. _She_ should have stayed. She should have bought them all time and let them run. If anyone could have survived—wouldn’t it have been her?

And Solas and his open disappointment when she didn’t banish the Grey Wardens—what was she supposed to do! The Mark didn’t give her a fucking wealth of knowledge in international Blight control! No one had offered any guidance. She’d had to make a choice on the spot. Maybe they could be reformed this time—and not fall again. Wouldn’t banishing them simply make them someone else’s fucking problem? Friends close, possible enemies closer? Shouldn’t that make sense?

But he was angry…

And of all the things she came back to Skyhold with….somehow that one hurt the most. 

_I tried_ , she wanted to scream at him. Wanted to grab his shoulders and somehow make him understand. _I tried to do the right thing. I tried to make the right decisions. I…._

And with her decisions, Hawke was probably dead. The Wardens continued. Nothing felt right. Cole was terrified he would be bound by enemy mages. The fucking Chantry and their fucking pigs were bitching and whining over whether or not Andraste could have really been there and _still_ fucking calling on her to settle their petty fucking disputes when there were so _many_ other things to worry about.

When she returned—go to the war room, update everyone, write a fucking report, take responsibility—as she should—that she had gotten a valuable person killed instead of staying like she should have. Instead of constantly tearing apart the lives of others. 

Instead of constantly trying to pretend that she knew what to do. 

Josephine asked her about politics, about decisions for the Chantry, about an answer about Andraste. She didn’t even pretend to be interested. She shut it down instantly. Tell them the truth, let them whine about it to each other. She was passed caring about their squabbling and horseshit.

_You are no Grey Warden…_

_Come, Cole, I can make you forget._

  _I know your secret, trickster. Your pride will be your undoing._

She shut all the glass doors and pulled the drapes and sat on her bed in the dark, staring at the fireplace until it smoldered and went out.

She did not get up to rekindle it. 

She stared at it, in the darkness, and sobbed.

Wasn’t….wasn’t she allowed to be afraid sometimes? 

She was only one person. She was only one elf. She wasn’t qualified for this. She wasn’t ready. She wasn’t the best choice. She…had just _been_ there. And that was it. Fuck! Why had she let the Wardens continue! They’d _killed_ the Divine! She should have disbanded them. Why was she suddenly solely in charge of these kinds of things? She wasn’t thinking clearly when they left the Rift. She’d been frantic, scared—like everyone else (except Solas, of course). But she was the only one to catch everyone’s ire and sadness and anger and everything else afterwards. 

Varric must hate her now. They all must hate her. They must despise her. Nothing was straight-forward anymore. 

Now, more than ever, she felt them look at her and only see the Inquisitor. She wasn’t real to any of them anymore. She wasn’t real to anyone. How was Cullen the only one who had ever asked if she was all right after they’d come to Skyhold? How was….and admitting she was scared was all right with him. He’d even encouraged her. Was he the only one who saw a person when he looked at her? Was that done now? Was she just the Inquisitor to everyone else? Or a failure? Or a murderer? How long before they had her killed or cast her out? Or betrayed her? Or told her they didn’t trust her anymore? Would that be a relief? Or would it destroy her? How long before someone pointed out that she had no idea what she was doing—and then she would be the disgrace, the humiliation, the failure of everything they had tried to do.

It wouldn’t matter that she hadn’t _known_ or that she’d _tried_. She would be a stain on the Inquisition, on mages and on elves. 

Her heart was hammering at all times of day now. Her sleep was non-existent. The nightmares had become so intense that she dreaded the dark more than ever. She sat in her quarters, rocking back and forth gently, staring at the fireplace. 

On the second day, Cassandra appeared, quiet and looking morose. “They are saying you have not left your quarters since you returned.”

She looked at Cassandra. 

“Inquisitor—“

“Don’t.”

Cassandra peered at her. “I…Lady Eckona. We must keep moving forward.”

“I know,” she said faintly, strangling back a break in her voice.

Cassandra approached her slowly, carefully and sat on the edge of her bed. “You are in pain.”

Eckona didn’t know how to answer, she stared at her blanket.

“I cannot know what you experienced there but I have seen the effect that it has had on you since this all began. It has gotten worse over time. After the Winter Palace, your eyes darkened. And after this, everything else has darkened. Do you….have no hope left at all?”

_No hope left at all…_

She couldn’t quell the small sob—and like dominoes, that started the cascade. Once it started, she couldn’t seem to stop. Sobbing, weeping into her knees. Cassandra did not move to touch her. She merely stayed at her side. 

“You must…feel very alone,” Cassandra murmured to her.

Her breath hitched and she shook.

“I understand that, at least. To be alone, no matter how many stand at your back. I started this—and I put you in that position because it had to be done. You should not listen to Blackwall. Your life is still important. You are still important. But until Corypheus is gone…well, this is all we can do.”

“I….I tried,” she blurted out, looking up finally. She could just make out Cassandra’s face in the dark. “I tried to make the right decisions. I tried! I know Varric must hate me now and you had so much respect for Hawke. I should have stayed, Cassandra. It should have been _me_. I’m sorry! I’m so sorry.”

“You did your very best,” Cassandra said softly, only now reaching out and gently touching her wrist. “You did everything you could. Sometimes, it will feel as if there is no point to any of it. No one will ever be happy with the decisions you make. Someone will always suffer. That is the world we live in.”

“Then what’s the fucking point?”

“The point, I suppose, is that we fight anyway because we are stubborn and afraid. And that fear either dominates our lives or we do everything we can to fight it. You fight it. I fight it. Being brave does not mean you are not afraid. It means that despite being afraid, you act anyway.”

Cassandra looked down a moment. “I know it would be very tempting to try to do what Solas would say is right. But, you are not blinded by how much you care about him. You know there is more at stake. There are more lives involved than just his opinion of humans and elves. His anger will fade or he will leave. You made an impression on him, regardless. I know you value his opinion—but his is not the only one. We have many who research for us. Josephine will handle the politicians. And we—you and I—we will go out together and kill monsters.” She chuckled a little. “Keep it simple. Kill monsters. Destroy rifts. Help people. Because that is something that you can always choose to do. You helped Alexius. You helped the Wardens. They will remember. And if they step out of line again, _I_ will kill them for disregarding one of the most important things a leader can have. And that thing is Compassion. To give fools a second chance to learn from their mistakes. Without compassion—neither of us would be here today.”

Eckona lifted her face from her knees, staring at Cassandra as if she’d never quite seen her before.

Cassandra met her gaze. “Do you understand?”

Eckona swallowed hard, feeling something in her chest ease. “Yes,” she said, faintly.

The warrior nodded. “Good. Now—I will go downstairs and send up someone to bring hot water. They will fill the tub in there,” she nodded towards the wet room that held some barrels and the large tub for her personal use, “and while you do that—they will stoke your fire and make the bed. After that, you will eat whatever they bring up and then you will sleep.”

Eckona kept staring at her. She nodded a little. 

“Good,” Cassandra said softly. She stood up. “By your leave, Eckona.” She turned away.

The woman had reached the stair case when Eckona found her voice. “Cassandra…” she managed, faintly.

She glanced back at the Inquisitor.

“……thank you.”

Cassandra inclined her head and started downstairs. 

She stayed in a bundle on her bed, wrapped in a quilt until a few servants appears. It would not do for them to see the Inquisitor such a wreck, she supposed. So she hid under her blankets like she was asleep. They listened to them pour water, listened to them murmur to each other. 

“It’ll be nice when we can have pipes installed. Then we won’t have to haul water anymore.”

“Still, it was nice of Sven to bring up stones to put the tub on. Now we can light a little fire under it—see. Keep it warm but won’t burn the Lady’s mark right off her skin.”

“Shush, Ola! Don’t be rude.”

When the maids left, Eckona pulled herself from her bed. She pushed her blankets away. They should be cleaned and aired. They smelled stale, like sweat, as did her nightclothes. She slowly took them off.

Thank goodness for Cassandra. She was…like a rock. She was truly an extraordinary woman. Eckona still felt like she was moving through molasses—but she was moving. That was good. One step at a time. She shivered in the dark room, fingers brushing over her bared skin and then ducked into the wet room. She closed the door and got herself into the bathtub. 

It was metal, lined in ceramic and it was deliciously hot. She laid down in the tub, staring at the wooden grain of the walls until she warmed up. Then she washed her hair and skin, feeling the silvery strands come clean under her fingernails. She put her head under the water, holding her breath. All she could hear was the gentle ripple of water on ceramic, the light crackle of coals under the stone supports, and the thoughts all mucked up in her head. Being underwater meant she had to focus on holding her breath though and that seemed to help. Boil everything down to one action—make everything simple and clear. 

She surfaced with a gasp and then hauled herself out of the tub. She spread the little mound of coals so they could die and she grabbed a towel she’d draped on the large barrels. 

Scrubbing it over her hair, breathing in the steam still drifting from the bath. She felt better. She was exhausted now—but she felt better. Her heartbeat had eased, the knot in her belly had eased. She wrapped the towel around herself and opened the door again. 

As Cassandra had indicated, someone had come up and stoked her fire. It was flaring and hot, casting warm light into the room. A small platter of fruit, cheese and chunks of roasted Painted Elk was at her desk, which had been carefully cleaned, books stacked and notes placed on a side table. A lantern had been lit there, extending the glow into the room. 

The sheets and blankets had all been changed as well, to a dark green flannel and quilts. Josephine probably. She was good like that. She anticipated everything. And she’d listened when she’d told Josephine how uncomfortable silk sheets were for her. She walked into the room, wandering over to the platter. She looked at it for a long moment.

“C’mon, _da’len_ ,” she muttered and reached down, plucking up a piece of meat with her fingers and bringing it to her lips. It was hot, thick, well-spiced, perfect in every way. It certainly was strange to have such casual access to such nice things. (Though they had a tendency to over-cook meat, she liked some red left in it, herself—but she certainly wasn’t about to complain.)

She licked thick juice from her fingers and picked up a bottle left sitting by the platter. Wine. Josephine again, likely. She’d made Eckona sit down for a whole night once, so she could establish a wine palette for her. By the end of it, Eckona had no idea what was happening and was so drunk that she’d wandered out of her quarters and somehow fallen asleep under the scaffold in the rotunda, where Solas tended to study. (Was he the one painting the murals? Or was that someone else?)

Luckily (or perhaps unluckily) Leliana had found her before anyone else did. She now was careful to always keep Rivaini blood oranges in stock. They were very expensive but they were Leliana’s favorites. Better to be safe than sorry.

That made her smile a little. She poured a glass. It was white and sweet. She took a sip, letting her fingers drift over the leather-bound copy of _Ancient Elves and the Creator Gods_. She’d read the whole book in one afternoon. If only there were more…elven history was always so sparse and hard to come by. She should go back to the Emerald Graves and explore further there. 

She picked up another piece of meat and walked over to the fireplace. It warmed her feet, skin still bare under the towel wrapped around her. 

Perhaps she could even ask—

“ _Emma lath_ ,” came the whisper, and gentle hands descended on her shoulders.

She swallowed and turned her head. “Solas,” she said softly, surprised. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, still barely above a whisper. “I am sometimes over-critical. I ought to have offered guidance instead of rash judgment. Perhaps, I should have stepped in—so the decision might be made later, after you had had time to recover.”

She looked down at the rugs on the floor. “….I….I tried to do the right thing…”

“And that is why you are the leader here, _Vhenan._ I am often too grim, too rigid, too unbending to remember the importance of compassion and mercy.”

“Even Cole was upset…” she murmured, looking at the fire.

“Cole is a spirit and he finds it difficult to fight his nature. And besides that—he has very dark memories of that place. It colors everything he feels about it. He cannot help that—a spirit is what he is. In any case, it cannot be changed now. We will deal with whatever comes of it.”

She felt his hands, large and warm, stay on her shoulders. One thumb drifted up under her ear, then slid up to caress it to its tip. His other hand slid down her arm, flitting over her fingers and then dipping in to her waist. He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her back against him gently. 

He was warm. Through the towel, she could feel it. He was real and warm and breathing. Her eyes drifted closed, chin tilting up as his fingers continued to explore her ears. 

“It should be remembered that while you are our cornerstone, you are still a mortal woman,” he said quietly by her ear. “No—perhaps _I_ should remember that you are still a mortal woman—with fears and pain like other people.”

His arm was holding her in place, so she could not turn to look at his expression. 

“You bear the burden of all our fears. I respect you for that.”

She rested her hand on his. Their fingers curled together over her abdomen. She felt the tip of his nose brush her cheek and she turned her head to meet him in a kiss.

His long fingers cupped her throat, tracing lightly over her jawline. She tightened her grip on his hand and that seemed to be encouragement enough to pull her tighter against him. He broke the kiss, separating for just long enough to urge her chin up. He kissed her throat, feeling how she shivered, how she finally started to relax into him.

His fingers curled into the towel, gently pulling at it. He heard it uncoil, the terrycloth dropping to the rug and he opened his eyes again to look at her. Her face was pinched and tired, needing something. He could read it in her eyes, needing comfort, needing _him_. And now she was afraid to ask him, afraid to come to him, afraid to let him help her with this burden they had all put on her. 

The hand cupping her throat moved, sliding down to her breast, turning her to face him, pulling her in. Her lithe body, her fine pointed ears, the scent of lemon finally starting to rekindle a bit. He kissed her again, full and deep and warm. She melted into it. He could feel how badly she wanted to feel safe for a little while, to feel like he was on her side.

And he was. He _was_. And everything he had felt from the first moment he’d met her, to her standing her ground when he insulted the Dalish, to a few traded verbal hints and far more physical ones that she likely hadn’t even been aware of—it flooded him. He wanted to protect her. It was fierce and strong in his belly. He would protect her, he would support her, he would teach her everything he could and when the Orb was recovered—

He stopped that thought, leaning in to kiss her again, pull her in closer—as if he could absorb her inside his skin. She felt so small when they were like this. It felt good. It felt good to take her into his arms and protect her and give her the comfort she secretly wanted so badly. So badly that Cole heard it. So badly that Cole came to _tell_ him—

He scooped her up, feeling her fingers tightening on his arms and then relax again. He took her to her bed, laying her down and moving over her to kiss her throat again. He felt her breathing change, startle and pick up a bit. Felt her magic, slow and feeling almost dormant again, tingle a bit as life returned to it. As she started to _feel_ again.

Her throat, her shoulders, down to her breast, his mouth moved and traveled. His hands cupped her outer thighs, rubbing warm circles over the skin. Gentle, reverent, full, slow—he counted each rib with his lips, followed the curve of her breastbone with his tongue. When their mouths met again, he shifted his hands to his tunic, breaking long enough to pull it off of him. She reached up to take it and he let her, curious. But all she did was breath in the scent on it and then put it aside on her pillow. 

He smiled faintly and she finally smiled in return, small and warm. The next kiss was full and deep. She inhaled, breathing him in and that made him sweep to the side. Kissing her throat again, letting their skin meet and brush each other and reminding himself of her in every way. Her fingers found and explored the jawbone at his chest and she gently lifted it over his ears, carefully laying it on the nightstand like some precious jewel.

His hands returned to her breasts, massaging her nipples, feeling them harden under his fingers. He ducked down again to kiss one, smelling her vanilla-scented soap and shifting—feeling the urge on him to make the citrus spike in her. To contrast and complement the metallic pepper of his own scent. It shouldn’t have worked—but it did. Sharp and searing in intensity, enveloping and complete. Acrid and cutting with lemon and pepper but softened by moss and made into something richer by metal. Almost like the scent of blood.

He shifted again, hands going to his belt. While he got it off, she leaned up. Her fingers slid over his chest, down the muscle in his abdomen. She helped him push his trousers off, exploring the wiry musculature of his frame as if she needed to learn—lest someone take him away.

She didn’t speak but carefully urged him to lie down next to her, leaning over him to kiss him. Her fingers cupped his face, his throat, then sliding over his collarbones. It was venerate, a mirror of his feeling for her, translated into touch. Profoundly respecting, worshipful—it was more than desire or lust. It was _love_. He could feel it in every nuance of her soft, skimming touch.

It made her shimmer. 

He urged her back after a moment or two, combing fingers through her hair and nosing at her ear and cheek. Nothing else mattered for now. 

At this moment, they were absorbed in each other.

He entered her carefully, a smooth caress into her body that made his breath stop and her moan softly. Her eyes closed, breathing in deeply. Her knees shifted up to his sides. His hands cupped her hips and when he moved, it was deliberate and slow but deep. Deep inside of her where it was hot and wet and nothing mattered but the intensity of the sensation and the feeling of _oneness_ that they reveled in.

Her body met his, rolling up to him like a smooth wave. He slid down to kiss her again, the drag of him inside of her pulling a soft gasping sound from her throat. 

He broke pace, still deep and thorough but a little quicker, one hand drifting down to her abdomen to press against her skin. A few inches below her belly button, his fingers depressed—he could _feel_ himself inside of her when he pressed like that. And from the way it made her gasp in surprise, he had a feeling she didn’t mind.

This was not like the last time—raw and biting and desperate—it was love. When she came it was blooming, a flower opening itself to him and only him. Her fingers went to his upper arms, latching onto him, digging into him as her whole body tensed and trembled and shook as he finally lost control. His final strokes were forceful with need and when she felt him coming—she urged his face to hers, kissing him as he rode it out. She pulled him to lie on top of her. 

He heard only a broken catch in her voice of, “ _Please_ don’t go.”

He wrapped his arms around her: a shield, a warm weight. 

 

The next morning, she awoke and he was still there. He looked so calm when he slept. Well, he was normally calm. But he was calm and serene. Not so grim. He didn’t look like the weight of a thousand years was on him when he slept. If only she could do that for him all the time, when he was awake…

She kissed his lips gently and looked into his steel-blue eyes when they opened. Her smile was soft and warm. She kissed him again.

He touched her face and then traced the sweeping lines down her back. "So, for this twin marking. If you have Falon'Din on the back like this--does your brother also have one?"

"Yes. My twin brother has Dirthamen. I have Falon'Din."

He smirked. "So that explains your lack of knowledge."

She burst out laughing and shoved his shoulder. "Shut up!"

"Not a worry," he told her, rolling on top of her, bracing himself on his elbow. "I am here to teach you."

She pulled him down for a kiss.

And for a while, everything was perfect.

 

 

 

Sera huffed. “Where’s the Inquistor-lady? I got some information for her. She’s usually wandering about looking solemn and thoughtful or something—or hanging around near the stupid library—can’t even tease Solas cause he ain’t around either.“

“If you’re looking for someone to bother, there’s always Blackwall. He’s pretty easy to rile up,” Varric told her, sitting in the main hall by a fireplace and cleaning Bianca.

“It ain’t the same though,” Sera insisted.

“Well, between you and me, if Solas knows what’s good for him—he’ll be with the Inquisitor.”

Sera wrinkled her nose. “Studying magic or something stupid like that?”

“After the tongue-thrashing Cassandra gave him yesterday—I don’t think it’ll matter so long as he’s _there_.”

“Wait-- _what_ ,” Sera said gleefully. 

“It was pretty funny.”


	7. Middle : The Calm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas/Lavellan  
> \------------
> 
> “Been meaning to mention, Solly. Flashy new digs you got there,” Sera said, wiggling her toes as she got up.
> 
> Solas absently straightened the cuffs. “Indeed. Very fitting, I think.”
> 
> “Did _Vhenan_ give it to you?” She fluttered her eyelashes at Eckona.
> 
> “Be _quiet_ ,” the Inquisitor grunted.
> 
> “Don’t be jealous, Sera. It’s unbecoming.”
> 
> “Tch, believe me, there’s no interest here for _you_ , egg head.”

Morrigan was incredibly intelligent. She was highly educated, a loner apostate who could get in good with royalty. She talked the Game and talked Magic in much the same way. Of course, it didn’t hurt that she was incredibly beautiful. No, not beautiful—sensual. Vivienne was sensual too—but in her exotic gowns and high-class, she could be disarming, even pleasant. Morrigan was sexual at her core. There was something almost dangerous about it. She wasn’t dapper like Dorian—chasing it about and flaunting herself at everyone around her. She was….like a mistress. But a mistress who courted no one—except her magic, her studies and her pursuit of knowledge.

Eckona felt a twinge of envy. This human mage knew more than she ever did about the elves. So much so that she could argue with _Solas_ and hold her ground. That gave her eyes a little more green than she’d care to admit as well. Being jealous of a human apostate was silly. Even one as gorgeous as Morrigan. Solas didn’t seem to have an interest in _human_ women—

And then she huffed to herself. That was silly. Jealous of her because she could debate with Solas. Solas seemed to like her well enough without her being an apostate or a historian. Maybe some little sliver in the back of her mind thought of Morrigan in a similar way to Vivienne. Both were dangerous in their chosen realms and neither would back down if they wanted something.

They were harder to read than women like Cassandra, who chose ferocity over tact. Like the difference between Solas and Cullen. Both were excellent at what they did—they simply had different ways of going about it.

Solas was restrained—part of the fun in getting to know him was seeing who he was under that carefully guarded mask. (And coming up with ways to _make_ that mask crack.)

Cullen was rougher, more forward, to the point. He didn’t have Solas’ gift for poetic speech. But when his eyes gentled, it hinted at a softness in him that was endearing and kind.

She shook her head to clear her thoughts. Focus. She needed to focus. The Arbor Wilds were dangerous and all kinds of madness was abound tonight. Fires were burning high when Eckona dismounted her horse at the forward camp.

“My Lady Inquisitor, you have arrived. Good. Cullen has already established presence and fighting has already begun in the forest. But they are making headway to the Temple that Lady Morrigan spoke of.”

Eckona stared at Josephine like she’d grown a second head. “What are you _doing out here_?!”

Josephine blinked. “My Lady, I came along to help secure the efforts of the Inquisition and see to the Empress—“

“The _Empress_ is here?!” She threw her hands up. “Why is the Empress here?!”

“To ensure the success of our combined forces—“

“Oh, gods. Oh shit. Josephine, if something happens to her on _our_ watch.”

Josephine looked a bit startled still. “Have faith in Commander Cullen. He and his men are more than up to the task of protecting the Empress—“

“Not if they run into Corypheus. You can’t die, Josephine. We need smart people in this operation.“

“I swear I will not die, my lady.”

“Can I get that in writing?”

Josephine laughed. “No, I’m afraid not. I do not have my seal.”

Eckona growled, dragging her hands down her face. “Don’t do anything reckless.” She stepped closer. “And _don’t_ risk yourself for Celene. The Empress would drop us like an ermine hat if she didn’t need our support so badly.”

“My Lady Inquisitor,” Josephine said, very patiently. “She would never drop an ermine hat.”

Eckona half-smiled and rolled her eyes.

That made Josephine chuckle. “Be safe, Inquisitor. Our friends await you.”

Eckona pulled her bow and quiver from her horse and a small leather satchel. She pointed at Cullen when they met eyes across the camp. “You look after Josephine! If anything happens to her, it’s your ass, Cullen!”

“As always, Inquisitor,” he grinned at her and lazily saluted.

Solas appeared at her side, gently taking her bow to snap it to the leather hooks on her back.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “And also, here.” She reached into her satchel and pulled out a small package. She pressed it into his hands.

He didn’t seem to notice for a minute, looking over her head. She followed his stern gaze, where he seemed to be watching Cullen.

“Is something wrong?” she asked him. “Solas?”

Whatever he was thinking about, that startled him out of it. “Yes, Eckona?”

“Everything all right?”

“Yes, of course.” He looked down at the package. “What is this?”

“Just—you needed a new one. I had it made for you.” She glanced away and chuckled, a little awkwardly. “I’ll—uh—get the others together.” She slipped away from him.

Solas opened the package. It was a long coat—to take the place of his ragged cloak. The lining was a thick film of dragonskin. The outer layer was leather made from gorgut and overlaid with ram. The ram leather was thick and rich, more decorative than protective. It was almost poetic, the scrolls and curves and geometric patterning that had been burnt and carved into the leather. He dropped the paper into the fire next to him and unfolded the coat completely. The geometric lines led inward on the back to a shaping of a wolf. He ran his fingers over it. Inbetween the layers of leather, there was another of Stormheart. The cuffs and shoulders and neck were lined with dragonbone. In dotted locations all along the leather, there were small wheels and studs of silverite. This must have taken weeks to create and months to gather the necessary supplies. This wasn’t a simple battle coat—it was a labor of love.

He took his cloak off and slipped the coat on. It fit perfectly, tailored to his lean build. The collar was high, but not enough to obscure his peripheral vision. But it would protect his ears as well as his neck. The buttons were made of shining obsidian, carved to perfectly smooth moons. He coupled the buttons. The coat hit around his knees and he found a dozen little pockets hidden among the curves and scrolls of the coat. _And_ it was enchanted for extra defense. His smoothed his fingers over the clearly-Elven inspired leather inlays and then grabbed his staff.

He walked over to Eckona, who was holding Cassandra’s shield while the woman strapped on her axe. Solas was quiet a moment—public displays of affection were not something either of them much indulged in—but he put his hands on her spine, curling his fingers into her body armor.

He leaned down to her ear. “Later,” he murmured in Elvish, “I will thank you. Extensively. Do you recall the first few times we spoke about the Dalish?”

“Yes,” she answered, shivering at his touch and turning her head to look at him. She could _feel_ how his eyes darkened.

“Do you remember what I said about their indomitable spirit.”

_I have yet to see it be dominated. I imagine the sight would be…fascinating._

They locked eyes. She swallowed hard.

His eyes were impossibly dark and then he inclined his head to her and stepped away.

Eckona shuddered a little and looked back to Cassandra, who was openly smirking. She blinked and looked down. “It’s just—I—he didn’t—“

“Do not worry,” Cassandra smiled. “I won’t tell anyone—I didn’t need a translator to tell me what he said to you. But I’ll arrange for you to be left alone for a day or two after this.”

“ _Cassandra_ ,” she managed, ears turning red.

“I am simply looking out for you. It is my duty to my Inquisitor that you be allowed to take sufficient time for yourself.”

She couldn’t seem to help the grin that grew across her face. She tried to hide it behind her hand.

“It is good to see you smile, Inquisitor. I admit, I was harsh with Solas at first. I was suspicious of him but—he seems to genuinely care about you.” Cassandra took her shield. “However, should he hurt you—you need only tell me and I will _deal_ with him.”

Eckona’s smile gentled. “You are an extraordinary person, Cassandra. Never let anyone tell you differently. You’ve been like an elder sister to me…”

Cassandra looked away a little, as if embarrassed. “You have earned it. Now—we should begin.”

“Yes,” Eckona agreed quickly. She checked the dagger at her back and then turned to the path.

Everyone was going, of course—this was too big and too dangerous for the whole team not to go. She was taking point with Solas, Sera, Cassandra and Cole. The others would follow right after them. Morrigan was also coming, looking regal and sly but Eckona felt less envy towards her for the moment.

The forests were thick with Corypheus’ Red Templars. The sickly sweet rotten stench of their power permeated everything. It took them the entire morning and most of the afternoon to fight their way to the Temple of Mythal.

And when they finally arrived, well—they found Samson and Corypheus. Eckona strung her bow, observing.

Strange elves were standing between the Red Templars and the Temple. The monstrous Elder One approached, there was a flash of light and then he….he _melted_.

“Whoa,” Varric breathed. “I gotta get me one of those.”

“What the hell happened?”

Eckona pointed her arrow down and stepped out from the platform railing, approaching the bridge. Dozens of corpses littered it. The Inquisitor stepped passed a Templar and knelt to one of the elves. She drew off his helm. “Amazing…I wonder who these elves are.”

“Guardians of the temple,” Solas mused.

“Stupid,” Sera countered. “Why have a trump if it kills you too?”

“There they go!” Morrigan said, pointing with her staff at Samson and the other Templars, hurrying inside.

“Hey, I think this one’s still alive,” Sera said, pulling out her dagger to cut his throat. “Hey, you,” she nudged him with her boot.

And then he sat up.

“He’s all red inside,” Cole warned. “Twisted up and bubbling and dying but living too.”

Sera eyed him and then took a step back.

The man coiled in on himself and then a horrible _snap_ as his spine was wrenched apart.

“Oh, shit,” Sera told him.

The man screamed as his throat burst apart and a horrible, spidery hand burst out of it.

“Oh, _fuck_!”

“Across the bridge! Cross the bridge!” Eckona grabbed Cole, shoving him ahead of her, hearing Corypheus screech behind them and the answering roar of his dragon.

They staggered inside the temple with just seconds to spare, stumbling and spinning to grab the doors and push them closed. The dragon blasted it with fire—it threw them all back. Cassandra shoved Cole and Sera ahead of her—it left them sprawling on the ground but out of range. Solas grabbed Eckona, pushing her under him and throwing up a shield but the door did not break.

“Been meaning to mention, Solly. Flashy new digs you got there,” Sera said, wiggling her toes as she got up.

Solas absently straightened the cuffs. “Indeed. Very fitting, I think.”

“Did _Vhenan_ give it to you?” She fluttered her eyelashes at Eckona.

“Be _quiet_ ,” the Inquisitor grunted.

“Don’t be jealous, Sera. It’s unbecoming.”

“Tch, believe me, there’s no interest here for _you_ , egg head.”

"Then you'll be glad to know the feeling is mutual."

“Bright and flashing and silver searing, catching in the dark, a sparkling light—she is like a cool breeze—and then her blade quick and quiet and quoting blood against your throat.”

“Shut up,” Sera scowled.

“What is it that he does, exactly?” Morrigan raised her eyebrows at Cole.

Eckona walked inside, all eyes at the temple. “This is beautiful…how amazing. It must have been empty for years…”

The air smelled like tea, a little spice, warmth and balmy breezes. It caressed the tips of her ears, whispering over her like a silk sheet. She pulled out her little journal, drawing a rough diagram of the gates. The map was swift and rough but it would suffice for later recollection. She eagerly stepped up to the two carved stones, covered in ancient Elvish runes.

She had to wonder, again, how and where Morrigan had studied. She’d never met a human who knew so much about elven lore. She herself could only read just a few of the words here and there. “Do you think there’s time to get a rubbing of this?”

“There really isn’t. We need to get to the Well of Sorrows, Inquisitor,” Morrigan reminded her, flatly.

“All right…” she trailed a last look at the stones and then hurried on to complete the stepping rituals.

There were so many marvels here. Exquisite mosaics of all the gods, even a statue to Fen’Harel. But…telling a different story from the one she’d heard in her life. Rather than a trickster God, one of noble struggles, one of rebellion. Could it be that there might be more to the story of Fen'Harel?

She was quick while Morrigan and Solas bickered with each other over the meaning, drawing the statue and swiftly writing the inscription.

Sera laughed at the mages and started making kissy-noises at them. “You two gonna kiss? You want us to leave?”

Both of them looked at Sera dryly.

Behind them Eckona looked at Sera, fighting a grin.

Sera winked, making scribbling motions with her hand. "If they've got time to bicker, you got time to write."

Eckona laughed and gave her a thumbs-up.

The two mages turned to look at the Inquisitor but she was stowing her book and walking back. The terrible wound that the Templars had made in the floor glared at them like a ruptured eye. She skipped it, examining the other aspects of the chamber.

Morrigan pointed out the ritual paths leading out—and it made Eckona again, aware, of how little she knew about her own heritage. Whatever the Well of Sorrows was—it couldn’t wait—but even Solas agreed (with the _witch_ , he said pointedly) that taking the path of the petitioners would be a good idea. Besides, she was dying to see the rest of the temple and this might be her only chance.

When they finally arrived at a vast chamber, full of the mysterious shadowy elves—they managed to strike a bargain with them. Oh, if only they would speak to her—with her—for just an hour. A few minutes. An age. What she could learn from them….

But when he said he would protect the Well, Morrigan chased off after him.

“Dammit, Morrigan,” Eckona grumbled.

“She turned into a bird,” Cole breathed.

“Birds, tapping and pecking, the sounds of scratches at your ears and filling up the night. All you hear are birds. You wanted to save them but you just couldn’t!” Sera imitated Cole’s awed voice.

Cole looked over at her. “…..how did you know?”

Sera started badly. “Wh-what?! N-no, it was a joke—that’s all!”

Cole gave her a faint, ghostly smile. Varric burst out laughing.

Sera’s mouth fell open. “Shit! He just got me! He had one at me! He told a _joke_!”

Cole grinned in a shy sort of way.

“Piss, is the world ending?”

Eckona smiled and gently patted Cole on the shoulder. Their guide led them through a maze of doors. They heard Samson’s Templars fighting behind many of them but their guide did not lead them false. And all along, they passed beautiful walls and paintings, mosaics and statues and so many things—what these walls could tell if they could speak. It was like the first time she’d been to a library. Or—more recently—when Solas had tested her for dormant magic and found her ripe with it.

Best not think of that now. She had to focus. When Samson was out of the way, they caught sight of Abelas and hurried after him. Morrigan appeared in front of him and them behind him.

She was interested in Abelas. If only Eckona could have convinced them to come to Skyhold. She could learn so much…ha, Leliana would probably flip her shit. But he refused. They would all refuse, she supposed. Ancient Elves in Skyhold—they would be forever marked by this world they did not recognize and couldn’t change or understand.

But one thing she would note in her journals is his comment about Fen’Harel.

“He had nothing to do with Mythal’s murder.”

It almost sounded like…there weren’t any gods after all. And that Fen’Harel wasn’t a traitor….there was no reason for him to lie. He’d admitted that it hadn’t been humans who’d destroyed the elves—but that the elves had warred among themselves.

“Wait, Abelas—about Fen’Harel—are all the legends of the Dalish elves wrong?“

But he walked away, leaving them to decide who would drink from the well. This all seemed a bit shady to Eckona—but she also didn’t really trust Morrigan. But someone had to drink in order to keep Corypheus from controlling the eluvians.

Perhaps it was Cole’s comment that convinced her the most. _It’s full of voices, talking over you. You don’t want them._

She let Morrigan drink. She seemed disoriented afterwards but unharmed and they had to bolt through the mirror to escape Corypheus’ rage.

Solas grabbed for her, steadying her when she staggered out. His hands stayed in place longer than they usually might, pulling her back a few steps with his hands on her hips, even as she was attempting to turn and ready herself to attack if he came through.

But Morrigan sealed the eluvian and Solas let her go.

“Well,” said Varric. “Traumatized for life. _Again._ ”

“Come, Inquisitor. Your advisers await.” Morrigan reattached her staff to the hook on her shoulder.

“How the hell did they make it back here before us?”

“They are quite clever, aren’t they,” Morrigan said. “Maybe they have their own eluvian.”

“If something like that happens, I’m slapping each one of them repeatedly about the face and neck.”

She gave them her report, promised them her notes and was quick to leave—eager for a bath and her journal and possibly a sandwich.

But outside the war room, Solas was waiting, still wearing the new coat. He opened his arm for her to step into and his hand lit lightly on her spine. “I’m glad you did not drink from the Well. I know how tempting it must be—the idea of that kind of knowledge.”

“You have to step up your game, Solas,” she said, noticing that he was walking her to her own door. “I know you understood some of that Ancient Elvish. I want to learn it and I want to know what you know about Fen’Harel and the Old Gods. I was thinking that—oh, thank you,” she said as he opened her door and nodded her to step through. “I was thinking that perhaps he wasn’t a traitor at all. That maybe some of the Old Gods were…terrible. Or he had somehow become a scapegoat while trying to do the right thing…I mean, if Mythal was _murdered_ than perhaps she started out a normal elf?” She opened the second door, going up the stairs and into the bedroom. Someone had already lit and stoked the fire. She spun in a slow circle, speaking her thoughts aloud. “Or at least, a normal ancient elf? Perhaps a great leader or a priestess? It would seem possible that these elves lived so long that they could construe one of their own for an ‘elder’ or a ‘god’, right?”

“Very possible,” Solas agreed, going to her great glass doors and closing them.

She continued to pace around the room, gesturing with her hands. “That there was a statue of Fen’Harel in Mythal’s temple—well, Morrigan said it was blasphemous. But maybe it wasn’t. Oh, I wish Abelas had come with us. He could tell me about when it was put there. I mean _they_ would know if Fen’Harel being there was blasphemous or not. They were keepers of the temple. I wonder if I could get Leliana’s people to find them? Just to keep an eye on them.” She fretted a little, as he sat down near her desk and removed his boots. She absently started to do the same, bracing her boot on her bedpost and removing them. And then she was up again, pacing as her thoughts raced. “What will they do—this world is so foreign to them now. I want to help but they don’t want my help. We could have at least protected them here. Reacquainted them with the world a little slower, right?”

“Possibly,” Solas sort-of agreed, setting his boots aside and standing to go to the fireplace, putting two additional logs on it.

“But if Fen’Harel wasn’t bad…I feel guilty. I always wondered, of course. It just seemed odd that he’d banish the other gods for no other reason than to simply walk the Dream alone. Perhaps they were horrible. Perhaps he was the only one who had the potential to be good among them? Providing they were even Gods—but even if they were just ancient elves regarded highly, it stands to reason that they couldn’t _all_ have the same personality, you know?”

“Possibly,” he said again. He removed the bone amulet from his throat, hanging it on a peg over her fire place. Then he removed his coat. He watched her pace, her hands braced on her hips as she burrowed lanes in the rug.

“They _all_ couldn’t just be the same bland ethereal ancient elves. Surely they were as different as elves now? Varied in personality and intelligence and interests. Maybe he was different—maybe they didn’t understand him—and he fought against something greater than himself. That might be almost too romantic but there could be _some_ truth at least--“

Solas grabbed her by the arm and yanked her into him. He heard her give a surprised squeak when he kissed her, cutting off her sentence. Her free hand grabbed into his shirt to steady herself. He didn’t wait for her to get her bearings. He pulled open her bodice, removing the breastplate and dropping it. He grabbed into her sash, yanking it out and throwing it aside as he unwound it from her waist.

“Solas--?”

He kissed her again, interrupting her as his fingers went to the catch in her cloak, pulling it off of her. His fingers wound into her hair and forced her head to tilt back. He bit her neck, soothing over it with his tongue. And then he released her.

She stumbled back, breathing short and rough. She stared at him. “Are you….are you all right--?”

She backed up a few steps as he advanced on her and then he grabbed her and shoved her up against the wall. He pinned her to it with his body, leaning in, grabbing her mouth. It was demanding, rough, controlling. She gasped, raised a hand to try to touch his face. He wasn’t having it. He grabbed her wrists in one large hand and pinned them above her head. His other hand slid down over her body. His eyes were boring into hers as he pressed over her breast and reached the ties on her trousers. Her abdomen twitched as the cool air kissed the skin. He pushed her trousers down barely a few inches before forcing his hand inside. She jerked against the wall, gasping against his mouth. His fingers slid over her, hot and already wet. He smirked against her mouth. “You are a lake, _Vhenan_.”

He felt her cringe a little, embarrassed. But he also felt her thigh shift tighter against him. He smirked. “You act embarrassed but you can’t help it.”

“Geez, Solas, I—“

“Be silent,” he commanded.

She blinked, eyebrows shooting up. “I don’t _obey_ anyone,” she breathed, eyes darkening.

“You’re Dalish. You’ve always obeyed _someone_.” He felt her tense up, the first prickling of anger when he needled at her bound magic like that. He kept smirking at her. “Yes, _da’len_. Was anyone among the Dalish able to _dominate_ that spirit of yours?”

“Have _you_ ever fucked anything that _wasn’t_ from the Fade?” She shot back.

“I suppose even _you_ came out of the fade.” He spun her around abruptly and shoved her against the wall again, the grain of the wood pressing hard into her cheek.

She pushed herself back—he held her down, clamping his fingers into the nape of her neck. She grunted and her fingers sparked with electricity.

“You aren’t advanced enough to use magic on me, little _asha_. Don’t bother.”

Her elbow slammed into his gut. He shifted, which was enough to let her foot slide back and kick his knee. He grinned and allowed his grip to loosen. She whirled around, fire in her eyes, matching his. She struck at him with the heel of her palm. He grabbed her wrist and flipped her. It was easy to forget she was a ranger—until right then, when she used his flip to give herself momentum. Her leg swung up, catching around his neck and they both slammed into the floor.

She rolled off of him, started to scramble up—he tackled her. She felt his teeth scrape her throat and his hands pull back her jacket and shirt, jerking them out of her belt in one swoop and throwing them aside.

Words stopped then—only a drifting echo of _dominate_.

He had her there on the floor, thrusting inside of her. She was still half-dressed, him fully dressed. When she cried out, he bit her, making her whole body shudder. And then he picked her up and undressed her. She put up resistance—for he was beginning to see how she _enjoyed_ the fight. He grabbed her arm and a whisper of ice traveled up her skin. It made every fiber of her being come to attention and distracted her enough that he could thwart the nimble ranger. He kicked her legs out from under her and pinned her down on the rug. She struggled against him, lightening crackling over her fingertips, arcing to his ears and shoulders. He shoved her down, binding her with a flash of silver in his eyes and then slowly shifted, watching her face. Her eyes flicked everywhere, her helpless to do anything but _endure_. His thumbs rubbed circles down to her hips and then clamped tight around them before he kissed inbetween.

She became very still when he did that. Still and silent, like waiting, anticipation. “S-Solas—“ she began, something uncertain in her tone.

And then his tongue lathed flat against her. He heard her take in a sharp breath, a deep sweep and then honing in on her scent. It filled his senses, made him forget all the bad things for awhile, nursing at her gently. Soft, consistent rhythm until he made her writhe against him. When she came, he moved quickly, grabbing her up and depositing her on the bed while the aftershocks were still rocking through her. Her feet were still on the floor, her breasts pressed against the bed. He hilted inside of her, holding onto her hips and then sliding his hands up, pressing over her back. His fingers traced the lines of Falon'Din. He followed them up to her throat, squeezing gently and then braced his palms on the bed. His thrusts were harsh, barely giving her a chance to breath as he plunged into her. Her fingers curled tight into her rucked blankets and then found his hands braced above her. She latched onto him, writhing and unable to quell the sound, biting on moans and starts. She breathed them into the sheets. Her fingernails dug into him hard enough to split skin. He broke rhythm, slower but harder and her whole body shook under him—and then he came apart.

He wavered and then dropped down onto her back. Their sweat mingled, feet a jumble on the floor until he got enough of his strength back to put a knee on the bed and pull her up onto it fully. He wrapped himself around her, gently combing her sweat-slick hair back from her face. All the tension had bled out of her face. She was boneless in his arms.

He closed his eyes against her shoulder.

 

_You won’t be able to keep this for much longer._

 

Downstairs, he could faintly hear someone strumming a lute and singing.

 

_Find me_  
_Still searching_  
_For someone_  
_To lead me_  
_Can you_  
_Guide me_  
_To the revolt inside me_


	8. Midde : Before the Storm

“As bad as it is, at least Vivienne’s hate makes sense—the Circle mages taught her well.”

“As did Solas, you,” she returned acidly.

“But only a coward mocks a fragile compassionate boy who has done nothing but try to help us. Who was ripped from the Fade and wasn’t able to return and his essence was warped by our world! And so, in order to _survive_ he took on a form of a young man! He’s been kind and grateful to us. And if either of you—or anyone else for that matter—feels they’re best served by insulting someone who has done nothing to deserve it, then you won’t be dealing with Cole. You’ll be dealing with _me_. You aren’t supposed to be my enemies.”

“As a Grey Warden—“

“I don’t give a fucking shit if you’re one of the Old Gods, Blackwall. One of the Old Gods has an issue with one of the people I protect, they can deal with me too!”

“You’re soft, then. Thinking only of spirits when you don’t know the damage they can wreck as demons. Letting him become more of a spirit is dangerous! I’ve seen the Darkspawn—“

“Yes, the Martyr of the Grey Wardens! I think I’ve heard it about five thousand times since I met you. Everything is awful for the Grey Wardens! A voluntary force that fight Blight, knowing they are both revered and ostracized and _still_ constantly complains about their lot in life. No one _forced_ you to become a Grey Warden, Blackwall. And if being a Grey Warden means you harbor just as much hatred and fear of magic and the Fade as the worst of the Templars—then you’d have been better served to be your own man and not join the Wardens in the _first_ place!”

Dead silence fell in the main hall. 

Dorian looked around and raised his hands in a tiny, soft noble’s clap. Sera sputtered on a laugh but kept very still, looking down the shaft of an arrow at Vivienne’s neck.

Varric muttered, “Shit,” and sipped his ale.

Eckona’s shoulders were loose, ready to spring if either moved a hair closer to Cole. The spirit was standing behind a bookshelf, eyes fixed on the plain wood in front of him, gently rocking back and forth. Solas was standing in front of it, preparing to shield him. She was standing several feet in front of Solas, separating him from Vivienne and Blackwall, who both had weapons drawn.

Cullen was standing in the doorway of the hall, just out of sight but focusing on the Inquisitor. He was fairly certain he could take Blackwall in a fight. Grey Warden or not, the man was passed his prime. Cassandra was standing near the steps, half-crouched with her axe in hand, waiting to see if one of them moved. 

Neither did. 

Vivienne pulled back on her staff. “I see this is something of an impasse, dear. Let the matter drop then. But I will not travel with the demon.”

“Then stay here and make yourself useful to Josephine.” Her gaze shifted to Blackwall.

He scowled and then sheathed his weapon. “You’re a fool.”

“Rather a fool than a coward.”

His shoulders bristled. “If we were anywhere else, Inquisitor. If you were anyone else.” He turned and walked out of the study.

Sera appeared, spitting on Vivenne’s gown when she walked by. The mage gave her an icy look and then continued. The thief flitted over the Cole, spiriting right around Solas. “Hey, Creepy ghost brother. You all right?”

Cole stared up at her. “You….protected me,” he said, sounding astonished.

Sera huffed. “No! I was just here. Vivi could use a couple shots in the business sometimes.”

“No,” Cole said. He stood up, looming over her. “You heard their thoughts and how mad they were and how streaming and cursing and everything spiraling out of control because the weight of the world hangs on them and makes them _compressed_ and act in ways they normally wouldn’t. You _heard_ them but you didn’t know how or why but you _knew_ and you went racing and flitting and flickering over the roof tops and _made_ the Inquisitor hear the sound.”

Solas blinked at him. “The sound—“ 

“The crying?” Eckona asked, straightening up.

“Yes,” Cole confirmed. “The crying—her cry is what Sera’s heart makes you hear. Sera’s heart is for the small and down and sad. She made you hear it.”

Eckona _had_ been upstairs with Solas when she’d suddenly heard something like a child crying. Which had led her down into the basement, Solas trailing behind her curiously. He insisted he didn’t hear the cry of a child but he did hear _something_ \--something like Void, like empty spaces he found in the Dream. Unsettling and still. Cold. 

“That’s _stupid_ ,” Sera snapped. “I don’t have any stupid magic! You’re all idiots!”

“Sera,” Solas said softly, raising a hand to placate her. “There is nothing _wrong_ with it. Because of you, we were able to intervene. You have some kind of dormant ability. I can help you bring it out.”

“No! I’m _not_ going to be like her and follow you around like a lost fucking puppy!” She snapped, pointing at Eckona. 

“Sera—“

“His eyes, his sad eyes—all the worse because she saw only the veil of hate that had been pressed upon it. If she’d only known the shadow of a Lady who baked them both in a pie of pride. They were the apples. The Lady was the baker and she _cut_ you to save herself. “

“Shut it!” Sera’s voice rose in pitch, panic flooding into her face. “SHUT! UP!”

“I can’t. I have to help you,” Cole told her, moving towards her.

Eckona started to reach out but Solas stopped her, watching.

“NO! I don’t _want_ your stupid, twisted demon help! I hate all of you! I was trying to—“

Cole embraced her. “You called me _brother_ ,” he said softly, sounding pleased.

Sera’s eyes were wide as dinner plates. She stared into Cole’s mismatched shirt. 

“So that would make you…like…my sister?” Cole asked the top of her head.

Sera swallowed hard, looking up at him and then away. “I…well. It’s just. They—they might have hurt you and nobody fucks with mine on my turf.” She pulled up her spare reserve of anger. “And it ain’t fair because you’ve always been all right—you’re just a little weird. But you’re all right.”

“I’ve never had a family before. It sounds nice.”

“It can be. When they’re not arseholes. They were mostly arseholes to me.”

Cole tilted his head. “I will not be that to you. Unless it helps you.”

“Well, sometimes it does.”

“Then I will try to know the sometimes and help.” 

She looked at him under the uneven teeth of hair. “Yeah. Well. Don’t let those fucks give you shite at all. You’re my scary ghost brother now.”

Cole smiled down at her, gentle and sincere and honest. He patted her on the head and let her go. “Thank you. Sera.”

Eckona looked sidelong at Solas. “Should we get them a puppy?”

“How about a pair of nugs?”

“Okay,” she agreed. “I’ll have a couple sent from Redcliffe.”

“Perks of being the Inquisitor.”

 

 

 

_”Now I must offer you the truth.”_

She felt her stomach drop out. He’d taken her hand, led her out to the familiar stone statues that dotted the Emerald Graves and the Exalted Plains and Crestwood. These two a pair of halla, standing bold and strong in front of a waterfall. It was beautiful—a gorgeous location. He certainly had class-- _closet romantic_ , she’d thought, unable to help a grin.

He seemed to feed off her smile, responding close. Touches and sly caresses to her skin, a touch on her face, a kiss on her nose. It was thick between them, everything they felt. 

And yet, the way he said _offer you the truth_ sunk an anvil into her stomach. “Whatever it is, Solas—we can work through it. I—“

“You misunderstand,” he was swift to tell her. “I refer to the _Vallaslin_ —the tattoo on your face. It is a slave marking that the ancient elves used on their own kin.”

Eckona felt herself sag in relief and then process his statement. “Slave markings…that....."

“I could remove it, _Vhenan_.”

She blinked at him. “Really?”

“If you wish—you are perfect no matter which you choose to me—but I wanted to give you the chance to free you from it. And the one on your back as well. I have looked into your dream, I admit. I wanted to know the circumstances of the twin binding, to see its import to you. I saw that it was painful for you. I believe it is similar enough to the _Vallaslin_ that I can remove it and free your magic completely. ”

She nodded, grabbed onto his sleeve and he directed her to sit. His hands were warm and bright over her skin, first over her face and then down, running the light over her back. Like spilled water quickly remedied—it was gone. 

It was like a cascade, a flood of warmth as her magic was released from its prison. Suddenly, she could _feel_ how thin the Veil was. She could really _feel_ the tingling on her skin. Suddenly, the barrier seemed like a wisp around her, something she could slip through so easily. Suddenly, she felt like she could do anything. Anything at all.

She breathed in, leaning her head forward to touch his shoulder. 

“You are free.”

“Thank you.” She smiled into his shirt, feeling a moment with him of total quiet, peaceful. Her right hand rested on his chest, the left slid to hold his hand. How could things be so terrible with Corypheus but so amazing at the same time. Her magic was whirling inside of her, attempting to test the limits of its new freedom.

He touched the side of her face. “And now, the second truth. I have distracted you from your duty. It will never happen again.” 

Her eyebrows furrowed and she sat up, blinking at his face. “Wait—what?”

“It is selfish for me to hold onto this. It will never be.”

She stared at him. “ _What_ \--wait, you’re….this is-- _what_?”

“Nothing else matters except for Corypheus. There can be nothing else.”

“What—stop speaking in cryptic riddles, dammit! Say what you mean!”

Solas looked at her a long, tender moment. “We. Us. It is over. There can be nothing between us after this moment.”

She flinched, wounded—as if she’d hoped he would not be able to say it. It was raw on her face, something shattering in her pale eyes. She took a deep breath—he could feel her starting to shake. “The least you could give me is an explanation,” she said quietly, almost calmly.

“I cannot. Not yet.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Soon, it will be clear. And you will no longer be troubled by me.”

“You—you don’t get to just _step in_ and _decide_ how I should be reacting! Or what I should be doing!”

“I do not mean to hurt you. The fault is mine.”

“Bull _shit_! What is going on? Whatever it is that you need-- _tell_ me. I can help you! We’ll find it together. I can help!”

“No. You really can’t.”

She stared at him, bewildered. When he turned to walk away, she lunged forward and grabbed his arm, jerking him around to face her. “Don’t be a fucking coward!” She commanded and then something in her voice caught. “What—what did I do wrong?”

He touched the side of her face and he looked for the whole world like his heart was breaking but then _why?!_ “It is not you. The fault is mine. It was irresponsible…”

“Solas—if this is because you’re afraid one of us is going to die—“

“That’s almost a guarantee.”

“Well, then, fuck it! We should spend our last nights being happy, at least, right? I would want you to remember the good things, not the sadness.”

“It cannot be. Ever.” His voice had fallen to a defeated whisper. He turned around and walked away.

She stared after him. 

She felt weak in the knees, staggering over to the water’s edge and sitting down heavily.

She stared at her hands, thinking swiftly through their interactions, their words, their actions-- _nothing_ had indicated this. 

Except the unanswered curiosities about him. But…but those hardly came up. They….she _loved_ him.

She…

Her stomach pitted into something cold and black, intense nausea and a taste in her throat like cold, wet stone. Her eyes were boiling and swimming and drowning.

She buried her face in her hands. 

_Let him just be panicking. Let him just be scared. I’ll take him with me when we go to summon Mythal. I won’t give up on him. He’s just…scared. Everyone gets scared sometimes._

Everyone was frazzled and on-edge. Hell, Blackwall and Vivienne had panicked when Cole presented being more of a Spirit. Solas had never shown a disposition that panicked but—maybe there was a first time for everything. Maybe afterwards they could…fix this.

 

 

 

At camps, he did not sit with her to share their dinner or make arrows. He did not lend her his staff to practice. He called her only _Inquisitor_. He did not meet her eyes. No lingering touch on her arm. They were strangers again and she was left floundering. It needled her, made her reckless in battle, prickly at the edges. The humiliation of having to explain to every single person in the Keep that her markings were gone and that, yes, Solas had removed them. Yes, they were no longer together and getting the snide looks and sniggers behind her back. Even looking at her own face--she felt like she was looking at someone else. It was her face. Yet, it wasn't. The humiliation and anger boiled inside of her.

Until Dorian grabbed her by the arm after a fight. He jerked her away from the others. “What is _wrong_ with you? You almost got Sera exploded. What is the matter? Your magic—it’s _erratic_. It’s everywhere. You have no control over it. Your body wants to shoot arrows and also shoot lightening and it can’t decide which to focus on. What happened?”

”I…” she stammered, her eyes flicking automatically over his shoulder to where Solas stood with his back to them, arms folded and broodily watching the fire. 

Dorian followed it and all at once, his face softened. “I…I see. I simply...I--has he spoken to you? At least about your magic? You're going to need help learning to control it.”

She curled her lips in, biting on them. "I thought maybe he was…just scared. Brought him so he’d….he’d see that _I’m_ not scared. I think I made it worse.”

Dorian clapped her on the shoulder. “Come with me.” He put his hand on her shoulder and turned her to walk with him.

Cassandra got up, looking at Dorian first, then Eckona. “What is it?” 

Dorian beamed at her. “Not a worry. Call in the cavalry! I’m taking our Inquisitor back for a well-deserved ale. I’ll send Varric and Cole here to take our places. You can manage, yes? Big strong warrior?”

“Well, yes, but—“

Dorian waved to her and they mounted their horses and went to Redcliffe. 

There, Dorian led her to the tavern. “I am not always the best person for lending an ear—however, I am a firm believer in getting your friends incredibly drunk when they need it.” He opened a tab. “Let’s get started,” he said, very seriously.


	9. The After : Once We Were

_Once we were_  
_In our peace  
_ _With our lives assured._

_Once we were  
_ _Not afraid of the Dark._

 

“So…almost everyone has lied to me,” Eckona said flatly. She stared at the letter Blackwall had left her. She took it with her into the keep, to go to her maps. The display in Val Royeaux had been difficult, watching him publicly admit who he was. For some reason, all she could imagine was Josephine panicking at a close companion to the Inquisitor revealing treachery.

She braced her elbow on the table, resting her eyes in her palm. 

Cullen looked sympathetic. He’d heard—as just about everyone in the keep had by now—about her and Solas. What terrible timing for Blackwa—no, this Rainier fellow—to suddenly decide he should face justice. He might not find her as level-headed as she normally was. Not that Cullen minded much. What Rainier did—what he did to his men. What he did to the people around him. He was a coward who only chose to reveal himself because he just happened to hear that one of the few who’d survived would now be put to death. Never mind what the man had suffered because of his cowardice. As far as Cullen was concerned, Blackwall deserved nothing better than death. 

But this was the Inquisition, an order founded on aid, mercy and a respect for a well-thought decision. She’d saved his life by arranging to have him turned over to them. He could feel the claws in her spirit, clinging on with the hope that maybe _something_ in this stupid world was going to be worth saving before she went off to Corypheus. 

_To die._

She never said it, but he heard it every time she said the Magister's name.

She couldn’t quite seem to face Rainier yet—likely Solas turning on her was still a very fresh wound. She wanted her judgment of Rainier to be about _him_ , not her personal issues. So Rainier stayed in the cells under the keep, to stay fresh until she was ready.

“That’s why the Calling didn’t affect him,” she said quietly. She laid the piece of paper on the table, sitting heavily in one of the old armchairs. “That’s why he could never tell me how they fought darkspawn. That’s why he was always so sensitive about anything I said about the Wardens. No matter what it was. He was terrified I’d find him out. Things that didn’t warrant him becoming angry with me. But he did. Because he was lying. He was afraid Cole would read his thoughts and absently reveal his treachery to us—so he was harsh and mean to Cole to try and guard his thoughts.”

Leliana looked at the Inquisitor, calm and steady but…something in her hesitating as well. “He…will await his due justice from you, Inquisitor.”

“Best done sooner than later,” Josephine said, not unkindly. “So Val Royeaux will not suspect we knew the whole time.”

Eckona nodded. Her face looked pinched and tired again. She looked like she’d aged a decade overnight. “What happened in the Dales?” She asked Leliana instead. “You haven’t told me yet. That you’re hesitating means really bad news. Right?”

Leliana looked at the other two and then at Eckona. “My Lady, our agents were sent to your clan. They were wiped out.”

Cullen saw the elven woman go very still. Her eyes glazed over, emptying out. 

And then she half-smiled, a sickened laugh bubbling out of her chest. “Of course,” she said quietly, resting her eyes in her palm again. “Anything else?”

“We were able to recover many of their personal effects.”

“Send them to my chambers. I will go through them. What about Abelas?”

“We’ve found no trace of him or the other ancient elves so far.”

“Josephine,” Eckona mused softly. “When this is over—can money be set aside for a small…I don’t know-- _something_ to study _real_ elven lore?”

“I will make it happen, Inquisitor. It is something you could conduct here in Skyhold. Lady Morrigan would be a valuable asset. As would—“ she hesitated.

“Solas,” Eckona finished. “Yes. He knows a great deal.” She rubbed her knees. “If I die when Corypheus comes—my journals are in my chambers, locked in a chest where the kegs are. They have a lot of my work and research about the real elven gods and the ruins we’ve discovered.”

“We will ensure that they are protected, my lady,” said Josephine.

“Also, if I die—give the mask I got from the Empress to Dorian. I know he wants it.”

“Lady Inquisitor—it’s worth alone could—“

“Give it to Dorian. He’s a liar. Like Sera and Varric. But they’re honest about being dishonest. I can trust that, at least.”

Her three advisors exchanged looks before all three sets of eyes went back to her. She was still staring at the maps.

“Is there….anything else?” Josephine ventured softly. 

Eckona didn’t raise her eyes. She just shook her head. “No. I’ll get you a list of anything else that will need to happen if I die.”

They looked at each other again.

“You’re dismissed. Everyone is dismissed except for a bare wall guard. Go. Just in case the world _does_ end.”

“My….lady—“

“You all chose to play this Game. I didn’t. And now my clan is gone.” She shook her head at the maps, lips tight. “There is nothing else to say.”

The two women circled the table to exit, Cullen looked after them, hesitating. But when the Inquisitor did not raise her eyes to his, he retreated. She stared down at the maps but she didn't really see them. 

Her Keeper, her clan—she’d been so critical, so eager to put things right. Starting with her own clan, she would be able to change things and that change would spread to other clans. She knew it could work if only….well. Could have worked. They were dead now. So no chance of that.

She braced her elbows on the table over a little drawing of an aravel and tiny trees that represented her clan. She put her eyes in her palms and she sobbed alone, where only the statues could see.

_Once we were_  
_In our homeland  
_ _With strength and might._

_Once we were  
_ _Not afraid of the night._

 

 

Corypheus did not wait. His power reached out, wrenching her to the floor of the war room by her Mark. When she surfaced, sweat was slicking her hair to her forehead. Her eyes were glittering with _rage_.

“I’ll go myself.”

“Inquisitor—I can send you no support—everyone is still getting back from the Wilds.”

“Good. It’s better this way. Watch the sky and drink a lot.” She turned around to stagger from the room. 

People had crowded into the keep, looking for answers, fearful of the great hole in the sky again. Her companions were waiting for her. Her eyes wandered over them. 

She felt Cole hone in on her, like a ghostly hand skimming through the mess in her mind. She ignored it for now. “Sera,” she said softly.

“Of fucking course!” she grinned. "I gotta stuff one up his arse for that shit with the Fade!"

“Dorian.”

“Only the best _for_ the best, my friend.”

She hesitated, knowing the next name was necessary (because of the knowledge he possessed) and wishing it weren’t. “Solas.”

“Thank you, Inquisitor.”

She looked up at him but couldn’t meet his eyes. “We will take point. Cassandra, Cole, Varric, Vivienne and The Bull will follow. 

“What of Rainier?” Cullen asked.

“He stays in his cell. If I live--he gets a pardon. If we die—he’ll serve his sentence with darkspawn. Might give him a chance to _actually_ learn about them,” she said before turning on her heel. “We meet outside in an hour. Anyone who wants out—this is your last chance.” She left the room, eyes deadened.

The eight companions and the three advisers looked at each other. 

"She doesn't expect she's going to live." Cullen said. "Consider your participation carefully."

“Couldn’t you have at least fucking _waited_ until Coryphebutt was gone?” Sera broke the terse silence.

“No. There are things at play bigger than you know.”

“What—like—you’re a prick?”

“All right—“ Leliana cut in. “No—this conversation can wait. It’s not important right now.”

“But she—“

“It’s not important to beating Corypheus right now. And it won’t bring her clan back. She has to come to terms with that.”

"Her clan was wiped out?" Dorian asked, looking at Cullen.

"Fucking shitballs." Sera scowled.

"Yes..." Cullen confirmed. "We just found them. We even sent Leliana's scouts--and we were too late."

Solas looked away from the others.

"You feel better now?" Sera sneered at him. "You're better than _all_ the Dalish and City elves. You're better than _all_ the humans and the dwarves and the Qunari _and_ , of course, you're better than all the shitting mages, right? Because you like to pretend that you know fucking everything but you're just as stupid and stuck-up as those fucking tits in Val Royeaux. You're just like them. Is anyone else ever impressed or amazed by _anything_! Don't tell Solas! He'll just tell you how fucking stupid you are, right? Dorian couldn't even talk about how amazing it was for him to be in the Fade. It was fucking terrifying for me--but he's a mage--why wouldn't he want to go on about it? _You_ had to tell him how it was no big fucking deal for you, _Master_ Solas because you're a _real_ elf, aren't you? And he's just a human mage. And on one hand all you do is insult everyone else for not being interested in magic or the Fade--but the moment someone else _is_ , you have to shit all over them. You know, _you_ are the kind of elf and mage that ruin it for everyone else. You are the kind of elf that makes me have to hide my ears in human cities!" Sera grabbed her bow. "Fucking shit." She stalked out, slamming the door behind her.

The silence that fell was loud.

Bull broke it. "Let's not keep the boss waiting."

Dorian sighed and turned to go.

“Go outfit yourselves," Leliana carried on. "Take anything you need from the storerooms. Good luck.”

They left, filing out one at a time.

Solas looked at the map one last time, eyes lingering over the little trees representing where her clan had come from. The red ink of the aravel was smeared like blood over the little trees. He turned away.

 

 

How does one describe the greatest feat in recent history? How do you encompass the mood, the fragile film of boastful camaraderie, the idle jokes about Makers and Bakers and Tevinter Blood Takers. How does someone describe the one chosen to carry the Anchor, the weight of the world literally resting in the balance on her shoulders—put her on a pedestal? Flesh out her lips and breasts, give her the look of the statues of Elven goddesses? She might be recreated to the proper _idea_ of who she stood for. Would stories mention how small and slender she looked, loosing her bow and starting to _stalk_ into the Temple grounds. How to iterate that she may have been small in the way of her people—but she carried herself as big as The Bull. It wasn’t about her physical form—it was her presence. Could he describe the anger the mages felt stir in her, unlike anything they’d felt from her. Lurking under the surface like a sleepy volcano, shaking off the fatigue of the Every Day and rearing up. Her heart started to thrum, beat, pound. Adrenaline flooded her system and her hands became icy cold. But strangely—she was calm. Was she seeing the battlefield in perfect clarity? Was she at the peak of the commander and ranger and elf and person that she ever would be—at this moment? 

As Varric loaded his crossbow, he half-smiled. _Only one way to find out._

The battle was explosive and harried and fast and brutal. Blood, sweat and pain, even before the dragon had come and Morrigan knocked out. Long range was a good choice for this fight. Anyone too close, whether Bull or Cole—would get a mouthful of tail and probably lose his scalp. It was easy for Dorian and Solas to keep up with the archers, casting barriers and traps. The two elven women scampering and flying and flitting over the battlefield, dodging swipes and roars and incinerating breaths. Until, finally, Eckona got close enough to _jump onto its snout_.

Cassandra cried out.

“No fucking way,” Bull threw his fists up as he pulled a demon apart, grinning.

She loosed an arrow into its eye—and it shrieked, belching fire. The Inquisitor dropped, hanging onto the leathery flesh. Her quiver snapped from its strap.

“Dorian! Do the—do the thing!” Sera screamed it at him. “Eck!” She took off her quiver and spun, throwing it like a javelin. 

Dorian realized a split second later what she meant and he cast. His own little pocket of time magic, unearthed from his study of necromancy. It would slow them down and allow the Inquisitor to speed up.

And that was exactly what happened. She moved, realizing in an instant. Eckona whirled around, grabbing the quiver from the air--traveling at a quarter of its original speed. Most of the remaining arrows went flying out. She ignored them, turning faster than the arrows could fall, sweeping them aside from the air instead. She stood up and strung the bow, staring into the dragon’s eyes. 

Madness, rage, desperation, hurt. So much hurt in those eyes.

She drew back, invoking the mark, invoking everything in her. The arrow flashed, turning colors and warping, surging with magic. The blast from the Rift her Mark opened around them, slowed to a point where it could be observed. It swept upward on everything, like invisible strings. Lightening arched and then crashed down into the Inquisitor. 

And just like that—time sped up again, Dorian staggering under the strain. 

Her power focused to a pin point, latent magic summoning the hottest fire, the Rift letting her feel the fabric of the Veil and she whispered to the arrow. It struck the dragon’s other eye like a hammerblow. The eye socket burst and the shaft buried inside in the dragon’s brain—then exploded.

She lost a layer of skin when it bucked her off. She felt it screaming in her head as it died. 

Then Corypheus, finally. The elven orb he carried was magnificent, like a great cold eye. He blasted them back with it. Sera scrambled up, wiping blood off her eyes and lining up a shot—anything. Hit the orb away from him. Something! But her arrow was vaporized before it reached him.

Dorian sent a volley out—but it smashed all around Corypheus and their Inquisitor. 

Solas stood and watched. And _waited_.

 

 

 

And it seemed natural to simply _take_ it from him. 

And that was it. 

She broke him. She broke every bone into tiny pieces. She wrenched apart the fabric of his being, tearing him apart, shredding him from existence. The power was incredible. Everything was strumming inside of her. 

She closed the Breach. 

The silence that followed confused her for a moment, disoriented as her body adjusted. She watched the orb crack apart and fall to the ground. Watched Solas hurry to it. 

He picked up the pieces gently, as if something precious to him.

“Well, there are the pieces, seen with your own eyes.”

He sighed. “If only we could have saved it.”

“Why?” She asked him softly, “What do you want it for?”

He shook his head, looking the most wretched he ever had. “It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.”

He stood, his blood splattered coat muted and dull in the dim light. “No matter what comes, I want you to know that...I did not lie about what you meant to me.”

She stared at him, not even surprised any longer. Her first instinct had been correct about him. He was hiding something. Something so big that he couldn’t tell her. Something so completely related to the orb or Corypheus or _something_ that it would be a turning point if it were learned. Something beyond anything she’d seen in the last months. Something that, even now, she would not expect.

Cassandra called for her and she gave them a little wave. But when she turned back to look up at Solas—he was gone. She did a slight double-take and headed back to the platform. The battlefield was empty. 

“Solas?” she said, quietly.

She closed her eyes and breathed in slowly. But there was so much magic in the air, she couldn’t make out his scent. She felt for him, reaching with her remaining command of magic, felt a shimmer off to the west. “Solas?” she called, louder.

She headed to the ledge and looked and far across the plains—she caught light glinting off a silverite stud. “Solas!”

He vanished.

Her eyes closed, her fists shook but overall—she was too exhausted to do anything else. She couldn’t scream or cry or laugh—she was just…too tired. Numb.

On the ride back, she was silent. Skyhold greeted them with cheers and singing and dancing. Josephine put a frantic party together—which she would later tell her she’d ordered ahead. If they failed, consolatory feast of all the best before death, if they won—celebration. Worked out well this way.

Eckona stayed long enough to talk to her companions and advisers. Leliana already had her people trying to track Solas. No one else wanted to talk about work. Eckona grabbed a large bottle of that sweet white wine Josephine had found for her. She drank on it as she meandered through the room. 

She didn’t stay long. 

When she entered her room—she was alone. 

_I am the one_  
_Who can recount  
_ _What we’ve lost._

_I am the one  
_ _Who will live on._


	10. The Hunt Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We were just talking about love,” Dorian told her with a smile. “About how Solas would turn in his grave if he knew I was teaching the Lethallan necromancy.”
> 
> “Tch! If he liked it, he should have put a string on it,” Sera said, holding up her wrist to display in reference to Elvish hand-fasting.
> 
> Eckona chuckled. “Thank you for coming, Sera.”
> 
> “Right, let’s find this tit and kick him in the balls.”
> 
> \-----------------
> 
> Dorian and Solas being nerds about magic: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5voU5BoMzcc  
> Dorian is a sassy bitch about Tevinter Magic: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K1fu4mOHR7U  
> Dorian is not a diet coke sort of mage: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CfQi84SgxPA  
> Solas is a Disney Princess: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xKRKOJ3ro3w
> 
> And then...Solas being a prejudiced dick when Dorian tries to apologize: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EeuadzXjIq4
> 
> The sad thing is that--Dorian just wants to be friends. He trolls Solas because he likes and respects him.

Eckona stepped back from the board. She’d build it from scrap and nailed it to one frame of the glass doors in her room. The first tack was Solas, dead in the middle. 

Then the knowledge she’d gathered about him. Leliana’s people had found the supposed village he’d come from. It was a ruin, an _old_ ruin. 

His familiarity with the Orb was obvious. He shared a curious attachment to it. 

_It wasn’t supposed to happen this way._ He’d told her that when he examined the broken pieces of the orb. What wasn’t? Corypheus? The Orb being shattered? The Breach? 

What had Corypheus told her? She’d _disrupted a spell years in the making_ or something. 

_Spells could take years to cast and the remnants would meet with new magic in an unending symphony._ Solas had said something like in the Emerald Graves, maybe? 

When they’d first spoken in Haven, he’d said he wouldn’t believe the artifact destroyed until he saw the broken pieces with his own eyes. But the first thing he’d done after Corypheus was go to it and lament that it was shattered. 

So, there was only one logical conclusion. 

Eckona put in a tack in a lower part of the board. The Orb. Solas had wanted the Orb. She wound yarn from the Orb to Solas. 

But why? 

She paced in front of the board. “No—slow down. Not why—go to the basics. What does the orb _do_?”

She went to her journals, paging back to the day that Solas had taken her aside to discuss the orb—after she’d escaped Haven. Her notes were a little disjointed from that day—so much had happened—but she found the spot. It was paraphrased, unfortunately, but she’d been exhausted. It was lucky she’d made any note at all.

“The orb is ours-- _elven_ \--threatens human faith. Unlocking it must have destroyed the Conclave. Used it to open the breach,” she read, skimming and then going back to read closer. “Reaction of humans to orb’s origin.”

Eckona looked at the board. It had made sense at the time, but…”Why would the humans….they know the magic our people used to wield….why would that shock them? Expecting the worst, maybe? The worst of the humans would blame all elves for an artifact barely remembered by anyone.”

She looked back to her journal.

_Solas: Learned about the orb in the Fade. Channel power from elven gods._

She put a new tack up for Corypheus. “How did you find the orb? Solas only knew because of the Fade. So, Corypheus must have walked the Fade as Solas did?” That was possible. She tied Corypheus to the orb.

“Keeping busy?”

Eckona didn’t even turn around. She smiled at the board. “Hey Dorian.” And then she turned around, giving him a little wave. “Bored?”

“In this exciting snow-hole? Never.” He sauntered up to her side, looking over her handiwork. “You ought to use silk threads.”

“Shut up, Dorian,” she laughed.

“You’re right. What a tragic waste of good silk.”

“Is Sera coming up too?”

“Of course,” Dorian waved a hand like it was a foregone conclusion. “She wants to finish wooing Dagna first—they have many explosions and bees to enrage—but she ought to find her way here.”

“I appreciate you both agreeing to come with me.”

“Do you know if Cole will?”

Eckona looked at the board, drifting over Solas’ name. “I don’t know. Leliana tells me I should let it go. Let her deal with it. But…there’s something. Some small detail that I’ve missed. And whatever it is—it’s the answer. It has to be.”

“He did seem rather heartbroken to leave you. Before, he just wandered like a monk through the keep. But afterward, he glared everyone away from him like a bad-tempered cat. Don’t touch me or talk to me until I want you to! But I will _never_ tell you when that is! Good luck!"

Eckona couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah that…sounds like him. At least until I got to know him.” She glanced at Dorian. He was watching her. “What?”

Dorian smiled his crooked half-grin, humorless. “We’ll find him.”

Eckona looked down and then back at him and smiled. She flipped him off.

He grinned. “You wish.”

That made her laugh. She went to her desk and poured two glasses of wine. He took that opportunity to pull out his pipe and a small bag of leaf. “Best get an extra pipe out. Sera will want some but you know she won’t bring her own.”

Eckona nodded, grabbing a leather wheel and unwinding it, pulling out two wooden pipes with long, rugged stems. Eckona chewed on her stem after Dorian filled the pipe. She lit it and blew a smoke ring at the board.

“He wasn’t that bad, you know.” Dorian said, packing the pipe for Sera and setting it on the table for when she arrived. “Yes, he was obnoxious and uptight and could never take a joke but…he asked about my work without looking like he might run away screaming. I really did enjoy talking with him.”

“I remember that. You fops. What was it: Couldn’t you…use the Fade to warp and snap like a whip. Nope! Makes my mouth taste funny.”

“A phrase oft uttered and never fully appreciated.” Dorian sipped his wine. “I wonder how he’d turn his ears if he knew _I_ had taken over your training.”

“He’d choke on his tea. An elf, trained by a Tevinter! What has the world come to?”

Dorian smirked. “Well, he’s no one but himself to blame. I tried to find common ground with him...but me being Tevinter--he could never ignore it enough to try. As worldly and talented as he was...sometimes he was like the nobles back home. Anyway, you are quite adept with the Necromancy—I wonder if being in the Fade had anything to do with it.”

She looked at Dorian a long moment. He'd left everything behind, a life of status and wealth to be no one here in the South so that he could be free. He was trying harder than anyone else in this group to find acceptance and show that he was ready to learn about and accept others. He was trying after being _raised_ to think slavery was normal. If only she'd paid attention. She knew Solas could be cruel--sometimes unintentionally--but intent didn't matter. Dorian got almost as much harassment as she had in human cities--but he got it _everywhere_ they went. Didn't it show far greater strength of character that he'd been raised that way and yet was fighting so hard against the prejudice he'd perceived as normal? What did it say for Solas--having seen so much in the Fade, demanding not to be judged only as an elf and yet unable to accept Dorian? Did he only see a pair of rounded ears? Only hear a Tevinter accent?

"Dorian, I--"

"No," Dorian cut her off, pointing at her with one hand. "I think I know what you're about to say and it's not necessary. He made his choices. It's not up to you to take responsibility for them. He was a good man but he had his faults, like all men and women. He was changing. You gave him a new perspective. Had he stayed, I think he would have been fairly tolerable." Dorian smiled a little. "But don't make that mistake. He _isn't_ a part of you. You don't control his actions. None of this is your fault. I want to come with you to get him back--because he's either gone mad or he's been possessed--and perhaps it will show him that I mean the things I say. I respect him. But I respect you more for putting up with him. He was a great deal funnier when he was with you."

She smiled sadly. "Still, Dorian..." And then her ears twitched—hearing a door slam. And then yelling. No panic, just a straight-level, “Ahhhhhhhhhh!”

“There’s Sera,” said Dorian.

And sure thing, the yelling got louder and Sera burst into her bedroom, yelling all the way up the stairs and crashing full-tilt into Eckona. “Ahhh!” Sera finished. “Dagna made me a new grenade! I think she really likes me!” She picked Eckona up and spun her around. “Ahhh! Best dwarf ever! She put a bow around one of the bottles!”

“Awww!”

Sera put her down. “I have to do something in return! Something with fire!” And then Sera threw herself in a heap into one of the armchairs. “Ahhh! This is amazing!”

Eckona picked up the third pipe and offered it.

“Ah! You’re the best!” Sera grabbed it and took out a match to light the leaf. She breathed in contentedly. “It’s the little things, you know? Ha, little things. Get it? Cause she’s a dwarf?”

“We were just talking about love,” Dorian told her with a smile. “About how Solas would turn in his grave if he knew I was teaching the Lethallan necromancy.”

“Tch! If he liked it, he should have put a string on it,” Sera said, holding up her wrist to display in reference to Elvish hand-fasting.

Eckona chuckled. “Thank you for coming, Sera.”

“Right, let’s find this tit and kick him in the balls.”

Dorian burst out laughing.

Eckona looked like she might be considering it as she took a long gulp of wine. “Lel’s people said he was last spotted going west. I know Solas—he loved being in the Emerald Graves and the Exalted Plains. It was filled with Elven ruins. It stands to reason that if Mythal’s temple could be hidden for so long—then there might be others.” She walked over to a standing easel she’d built on wheels, fingers skimming over the map she’d painstakingly attached to it. It was nearly ten feet wide and six feet tall. Cullen had helped her build the wheels and braces it sat on.

“It would be a likely place as any to enter the Fade for your first time.”

“Oh, do be gentle,” Sera said.

Dorian snorted. “If she’s with me, there will be no complaints.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Vint.”

“Always, Knife-ear.”

Sera burst out laughing, kicking her legs over the arm of the chair.

Cole appeared on the balcony, entering the room through the glass door. He fiddled with his hands, twisting his fingers together. 

“Hello, Cole,” Eckona said, always unconsciously gentler when she spoke to Cole.

“Hello.”

“Ghost brother!” Sera sang out, leaping up from her chair to embrace him.

That made Cole smile, bright and shy. “Elf sister.” He patted her on the head.

“I can’t wait to get started. I’m going batty sitting around.”

“Are we going to find Solas?” Cole asked quietly.

Eckona looked at him, trying not to feel how his presence pressed against her thoughts. She knew he didn’t do it on purpose. He was a spirit of Compassion. It was his nature. “Yes—with any luck, Cole. We’ll find him.”

“He hurt many people. He. Shouldn’t. He didn’t want to. He’s—not that sort of wolf.”

“We know, Cole. We hope we can find out why.”

“I hope we do.”

“Oh,” Dorian said, crossing his arms and looking at Sera. “Adorable spirit.”

“That makes you sound creepily father-like,” Eckona told him.

“Uh, oh. Abort! Abort!”

Cole wandered up to her board of ties, examining the orb, Solas, Corypheus and the yarn. “The baths,” he said.

Eckona paused, as did the other two squabbling over a bit of cheese, and looked at Cole. “What?”

“The baths,” he repeated. “We couldn’t find the…the rune, there.”

“Yes. It….was a set according to Solas.”

“We should find the last one.” Cole wandered over to the map and pointed at the Exalted Plains. “We should find it.”

“The baths were nearly destroyed. We searched all over that place,” Dorian said thoughtfully. Sera slipped the cheese from his fingers without his notice and gobbled it down.

Eckona examined Cole for a moment. “Well—we’d better head back then.”

“What have I been saying about front-line bodyguards?”

All four turned. “Bull?” Eckona said, surprised. “You…want to come with us?”

The Iron Bull was standing at the top of the staircase, huge arms crossed.

“How did _you_ hear about this?” Dorian asked. “It was only between us.”

“Spy,” he reminded them. “And yes. I’m a bit of a romantic, deep down.”

Dorian seemed interested in that comment, looking The Iron Bull up and down. Sera sniggered.

“He was a good fighter, cleverer than he should have been and I couldn’t find a damn thing about him _anywhere_ ,” The Bull went on. “Insult to my skill, I think. What happened at the Temple surprised everyone—what he did with you surprised everyone, boss. Your love life isn’t a damn concern of mine but when the boss suffers, a good bodyguard should know it. So if he has some reason for acting like a fucking idiot—we correct him. If he can’t be corrected, then we cut him in half and be done with it.” He gripped the shaft of his battleaxe. “That’s where a good bodyguard comes in. Besides, there are plenty around here who could give you some cause to forget the bastard.”

Eckona looked away, chewing on her lip.

“Don’t take it so hard, boss. But you need a distraction. Might be nice if you started getting laid on the reg.”

Dorian and Sera looked at each other. Sera collapsed back into her armchair, bubbling up and boiling over with laughter.

“Wouldn’t we all,” Dorian mused.

The Bull glanced at him. “Speak for yourself. I get laid plenty. You’re in the South now, Vint. Would do you some good to adapt to some of the nicer things down here.”

“Wait—you _don’t_ ,” Sera asked Dorian, nonplussed. “But you’re all flashy and handsome!”

Dorian looked caught for a moment. “Uh. I—it’s—well, normally I would agree with you but—ah—“

“Sera,” Eckona peered at her. “Do you…not know...”

“He likes men,” Iron Bull told her.

Sera’s mouth fell open. “ _What_? You do!”

“Are you serious?” Eckona asked, staring at her. “Did you not know--well, actually...I guess I didn't tell anyone. I...felt that was up to Dorian to tell...”

Sera grinned. “No wonder we got along so well. I like girls. You like boys. You flirt with everyone--so I thought you were just trying to get into Eck’s pants after Solas ditched out.”

Dorian looked raw for a moment, as if uncertain. Or afraid she might mock him. “I. Well. Preferably older than boys.”

“He’s still getting used to it being all right here in the South,” Bull told the elf. 

Sera wiggled. “Oh, I am going to introduce you to _so many_ people! You will learn so much in the coming weeks, Dorian.”

“Okay, okay—please talk about your hook-ups later.” Eckona asked them, dissolving into helpless laughter and covering her face with her hands. “Also, him? A rebound? Really, Sera?”

“What! How was I supposed to know different!"

"I would _never_ have done that!"

Four sets of eyebrows raised at him.

"Well, not to _you_!"

"See, he’s totally different from Solas! I thought you needed a pick-me-up!”

“She’s right about that, at least—I’m totally different from Solas. Far more dashing. Handsome. Better fashion sense.”

“You both feel things deeply though,” Cole spoke up. “But for Solas it was quiet, like a secret. Out of sight. But you hid yours like a book in a library—in plain sight for those who knew how to look.”

Eckona looked at Cole, felt something in her keen for Solas again. She closed her eyes to wrestle it down into submission. 

The Iron Bull gently touched her shoulder, steady and strong. “C’mon boss, let’s go find the stupid elf.”

She nodded. 

 

 

“Team Misfit!” Sera declared as they stood in the keep, doing a last check of their supplies and weapons before heading out. “Piss on everyone else who went home.”

“Except for Blackwall. He can’t go home,” Dorian chuckled. 

“Well—it was good to give him a second chance.”

“I did say if we lived, he could be pardoned. And then he turned around and declared he’d never leave.”

“Why didn’t you just send him to the Wardens for real this time?” Sera asked.

Eckona sighed. “I was afraid that if he was with the Wardens—he might be controlled like they were.”

“Friends close, possible enemies closer,” Bull clarified.

“Ah, how deliciously like home,” Dorian sighed.

“Well, his actions will be what define him now. Not a stolen name and abilities he never had. In any case, are we ready?”

Sera was bouncing on her toes. Dorian nodded. The Bull grinned. Cole ghosted to her side.

“You can’t honestly think I’ll let you walk out of here without an argument, Inquisitor.”

Eckona sighed. “Cullen—“

“Let Leliana’s people handle this,” he advised, for perhaps the fiftieth time, as he approached from the side hallway. He'd clearly been waiting just out of sight for his opening.

“I thought you were in your office.”

Cullen crossed his arms. “Your protection is my responsibility. I hear about it when you’re trying to sneak off.”

“Okay, _Leliana_ ,” Eckona snorted, hands on her hips.

“No. She knows what you had for breakfast this morning.”

"So does the cook!"

"Yes, but the cook doesn't weigh it to check for poison. Besides, you didn't even eat any of it. You can never eat before you travel. Makes you nauseated.”

Eckona blinked and then scowled. “Damn it, Cullen. Don't do--”

“Lady Eckona,” he said, quieter, getting closer to her and peering into her face. “Whatever the answers are—it will probably only hurt you. You should let him go.”

She tensed, looking up into his honest, earnest face. “I….I can’t,” she murmured, helplessly.

Cullen sighed and closed his eyes. “All right. All right. Just—go before I throw you in the prison or something.” He rubbed his forehead.

She smiled sadly. “Thank you, Cullen. No lyrium while I’m gone. Or at any other time. Talk to Cassandra if you have a bad day.”

“You should get to know my boys,” Bull advised Cullen. “They know what that stuff does to a man. And they know about addictions and trying to be something you’re not.”

Cullen looked at Bull for a moment and then back at Eckona. “Send word, at least. I know there’s a Dalish camp not far from there.”

“Does _everyone_ in the keep know where we’re going?” Eckona grumbled.

“I told him,” Cole said suddenly.

“Cole!”

“He needed to know. You _wanted_ to tell him but you didn’t think you could. So I told him.”

Eckona stared at him and then sighed. “All right. All right.”

Cullen suddenly reached out, touching her shoulder. “Here.” He pressed a small purse of gold into her hands. “Be careful.” He then exchanged a stern look with the Bull—maybe a warrior-to-warrior thing or something—and nodded. The Bull half-smiled and returned it.

“He’s a good man,” Bull said as Cullen walked away. “Easy to read though. He’d be a terrible spy.”

“Thankfully, we have Leliana for that.”

 

 

Travel to the Exalted Plains was uneventful. Dorian was suspecting they’d be going into the Fade, however, and so he began to help her prepare. 

“Cool your mind. The Fade is a place of Dreams—but our will is real. And Solas was right—spirits reflect our own intent. If you can keep calm in the Fade—you can find what you seek. If Cole’s hunch is correct and the last rune will give us something—you must be prepared. I will come with you, of course. I don’t know what will happen, given you’ve entered the Fade already physically. The last time that happened—darkspawn were born. I have a small stock of Lyrium. I don’t believe Cullen knows you’re intending to enter the Fade—he might really not have allowed you to leave if he had.”

“I don’t know how to find Memories there. Solas never…said how he did it. Just that he was Dreaming in the Fade.”

“I don’t know how he enters through Dreaming—it’s some form of lucid dreaming that he uses to slip through the Veil—but I’ve entered with Lyrium. We will try to gather what we can.” 

 

At the Dalish camp, she was greeted with a smile. She’d gone to great effort to get on their good side and it was beneficial now. They set up their own little camp next to it and spent the evening eating and drinking with the Dalish there. They recognized Sera immediately as a City elf and challenged her to a game of Euchari. So then, of course, they had to teach Iron Bull and Dorian. (Cole had wandered away, seeming uninterested in the game.)

Sera surprised the Dalish by beating them soundly (by cheating). It put them in much higher spirits, though. 

“I may not care for all this elfy shit—but I learned a lot in the alleys,” Sera told them.

 

The next day, they were off to the Ancient Baths, a small elven ruin not far from the camp. Eckona remembered coming here with Solas. They’d combed the area, the crumbled walls, trying to find the rune. There was Veil Fire—so there must be _something_.

“We should practice here,” Dorian said, looking around the wide open space. “This is defensible as anything. Water to protect our backs and Bull and Sera to protect our fronts.”

“You mean…go into the Fade?”

“Yes,” Dorian said, quite seriously. “To find the rune.” 

“I’m scared,” Cole murmured, ghosting to her side and touching her arm. “He would not want you to do this.”

Eckona looked up at the young man. “He’s not here, Cole. And don’t worry—you don’t have to enter the Fade with us. Stay here and help the Bull and Sera.”

But Cole shook his head. “I can help more, there.”

“Cole,” Eckona said, reaching out to touch his arm. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

Dorian cleared off a section of stone for the three of them and they sat in a triangle, facing each other. He placed his staff at his side and in the middle, he laid a silver bowl. It was full of Lyrium. It’s faint sparkle and strange song, twittering at them (and at Sera, though she did not realize what it was). 

“The Circles here in the South are very careful about the Fade. In Tevinter…that is not the case. It may be rather jarring for you.”

“Do we ingest it, like Templars?”

“No. A touch will suffice—it reacts to magic. It’s why dwarves are the only ones who mine it.”

Eckona took a deep breath and nodded. She and Dorian reached at the same time, both dipping their fingers into the Lyrium. 

All at once, the music shocked through her skull. And then she felt Dorian’s presence, holding onto her, _pulling_ her. She seemed to stagger and follow. 

In the baths, Cole vanished and Sera and The Bull watched as Dorian and Eckona’s bodies slump forward a little. 

“There they go,” said The Bull.

“Fucking creepy,” Sera said. “It’s like they’re dead.”

“Technically they are, aren’t they?”

“Shut up.”

 

 

Eckona panted for breath, which was odd as she wasn’t physically with a body—why would she be panting? Dorian was holding her up, bracing her against him. His scent was strange here, the honey was fainter, the rose was faded and underneath was something darker, richer. Like death. Perhaps because of his necromancy?

He held her to him until her feet steadied. “There you are. How do you feel?”

“Weird,” she told him, looking up. 

The walls of the baths were there…yet not. It was as if someone were trying to remember it without having been there in years. The walls warped in and out of sight—or perhaps existence?—at once it seemed empty of anything but grass, then full of ancient elves and hot steam and also deserted and crumbling. It felt…odd. 

“This place has not seen as much death as some others,” Cole said, appearing next to them from nowhere. “It’s harder for you to enter.” He reached out to take one of her arms. The two men held her as she got her bearings.

“It feels…amazing. And strange. And—so many things at once.”

“Those are memories—like Divine Justinia showed you in the Fade. They are all real to these spirits but less real to us,” Dorian told her.

“There’s so much color…” Eckona brushed off her clothes of invisible dirt and shook herself. “All right…how do we find this rune?”

Dorian wandered the space. “Because this is the Fade, all things simultaneously exist and do not exist. We must focus on making the old baths exist so we might see where the rune was etched.”

“How do we do that?”

“Well—it’s a matter of will.”

“You have to look back,” Cole said. “Look to when the walls went up. You have to look.”

“How can we will it when we don’t know what they were like when they were built?”

“That’s why we have to find a memory.” Dorian started across the grass towards where the river had been in the real world. It was not there in the Fade (at least, it didn’t appear to be). “This is what we know about this area: before the baths were built, this river was not here.” He gestured to the empty grass in front of them. “You don’t put baths in soft ground. They’ll sink. So a hotspring probably existed below it. At some point after the bath’s collapse—the land might have collapsed, allowing the hotsprings to escape and form the river. This land was likely much higher than it is Outside now.”

Everything shifted. Eckona felt Dorian’s will strengthen in the Fade. All at once, they were higher up. Spirits were drawing nearer to them, seeming interested in the proceedings. Cole waved to them, attempting to speak with a few while Dorian paced the area. 

Her Mark sparked and she clenched her fingers around it, tingling. 

A spirit flitted about like a button of light. Eckona went very still, like watching a wild animal in a forest. It approached her, curious, cautious. She let it, let it swim through the air to her, right up to her eyes. It sparkled and she felt a faint touch of warmth on her nose. 

All at once, everything shifted again. She was standing alone in the middle of a beautiful, grassy spot. The walls were up all around her. They still smelled like fresh dust and tools. There was a light peal of laughter as two elves came hurrying down the steps. One female and one male who looked remarkably like—

“ _Solas!_ ” She burst out and then clamped her hand over her mouth.

“Be careful,” Dorian’s voice murmured next to her, calm and steady. He touched her arm. “That is not Solas. It is something the memory creates. It reflects what a spirit remembers—but also what _you_ remember. His resemblance to Solas is likely just it needing to remember what it looked like. It’s creating images with your help. You see—the girl looks like you. You and Solas and very likely Sera are the baseline for which it can now recreate what it knew.”

“It is the girl,” Cole said gently. “She couldn't remember his face but she feels the same way you do inside.”

The two elves were pressed together, panting softly. 

“Come on,” said the girl, breathlessly. “Let’s etch the rune so we can go home.”

He smiled and together, they turned to the wall. She drew half of the mark and he drew the other half, sparking and lighting together to fulfill it. 

“She speaks in Ancient Elvish but because it is reflected through you—it is in Dalish Elvish, allowing you to understand,” Dorian told her. 

“So what do you both hear?”

“I hear the common tongue,” Dorian said. “Under it, I can hear the Elvish—but it is distant, like an echo.”

Cole looked puzzled by the question. “I hear….her. I hear them. I hear how they want to be together in their desire and love. The words don’t matter.”

“Fair enough,” Eckona murmured, watching them finalize the mark. It was on the eastern wall. “I was sure we searched that wall. Why didn’t we see it then?”

Dorian had his hands on his hips, watching the pair of elves. 

“All right,” said the boy. “Now—the other three are pretty obvious but this will be the one that stumps them.”

“Can’t make it too easy to get to the temple,” the girl agreed.

“Secrets,” answered the man.

She grinned. “Secrets.” She edged closer, leaning up to nip the tip of his ear.

The two of them kissed and then separated long enough to place palms on the wall again. There was a flair of power and the rune vanished. 

“It’s been hidden by the Fade,” Dorian mused aloud. “They’re using the Fade to hide it from view. Only one who could enter the Fade can take it off. Like a curtain.”

All at once, the area shifted again. The walls around them appeared as they were Outside—ragged and ruined. Eckona looked around and saw the spirit. “Thank you,” she said to it, not sure if that was appropriate but feeling as if it was necessary. She’d shown them something rather private, after all.

“She’s happy,” Cole said. “She finally got to show someone who understands it.”

Dorian approached the wall and Eckona hurried over to follow. He touched it, searching. She followed suit and then felt the faintest catch, like a lip in a peel. She focused on it, sliding her fingers up. It took a bare caress, something slow and careful ( _like two lovers_ ) and the film lifted.

“Excellent,” Dorian breathed. “Careful now.”

She pulled it away and the mark flared, burning at them. She stared at it, trying to cement it in her memory.

“The Veil Fire should work now,” said Dorian. “Let’s go back.”

She nodded, still gazing around. “How _do_ we go back?”

“Again, it is a matter of will. Follow my lead.” Dorian walked back to the space where their bodies had been left. He gently grabbed her arm. “All right, now focus on me and try to feel for the Veil—just as you felt for the curtain on the mark.”

She did.

And everything seemed to tilt in every direction. 

When she opened her eyes, she was staring up at blue sky and Iron Bull’s concerned face. She panted. “That was amazing.”

“Not the first time I’ve heard that after waking,” Dorian smirked.

“Shut up,” Eckona chuckled faintly. The Bull put a huge palm under her back and helped her sit up. 

They headed back to the Dalish camp, mark copied into her journal. They couldn’t do much with it there and so they headed out the next day to Fort Revasan. There, they sent a message ahead to Skyhold.

 

 

It would be nearly two weeks before they got any word back on the markings. They led to an old temple dedicated to the elven god Dirthamen, twin brother to Falon’Din. 

“God of secrets and knowledge,” Eckona said, feeling the first twinges of excitement. “That’s a good lead as any! Let’s go!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was intended only to be a single part--and then I liked it so much that I made it ten parts.
> 
> I kind of want to continue.
> 
>  
> 
> Full disclosure, I've never played the other Dragon Age games. I tried looking up how exactly they enter the Fade but it seemed a vague. So liberties were taken. If I got anything blatantly wrong--I'm sorry.


	11. Cole got Cole'd

“Do you remember anything about the last conversations you might have had with Solas?” Dorian asked, leaning against his pack and lighting his pipe. 

Eckona looked into the fire, pulling her blanket closer around her. “He seemed on edge but….well—I suppose I chalked it up to Corypheus. There was a likely chance of death. We had no way of knowing if we’d be enough…”

“He didn’t much talk to me—except to convince me I should do more elf-things. Like falling up into the Breach and shit.”

“He tried to beat me at chess. To his credit, longest match I ever had. With _anyone_ ,” Bull told them. “We never did finish it.”

Cole was looking into the fire too, quietly.

“Cole?” Dorian prompted, passing the bag of leaf to Sera.

The spirit looked confused for a moment. “I…don’t know.”

Eckona suddenly _jumped_ , making Dorian nearly dump hot coals on himself. “Wait! No—I remember. Cole! What you said to me _right_ after he left!”

Cole looked at her blankly. “What did I say?”

Eckona lurched across the campsite to her satchel. She drug it to herself. “I was so upset at the time—I didn’t even have my journal on me. I went back to my room later and wrote it down.” She pulled out the leather volume and scrambled through the pages. “I had to paraphrase. At the time, I was too distracted to really _think_ about it.”

She reached the page and started to read, “Cole said something strange to me today—I don’t know if it’s simply how much I—“ she faltered and then forced herself to read on, “I _miss_ \--Solas but it was odd, even for Cole. The speech patterns were very similar to Solas. I can’t remember exactly the wording but it was something like: _I’m sorry Cole but with your gift I fear you might see the path that I must walk alone. I would not wish it on an enemy, much less someone that I cared for. Though you reach out in Compassion, I must insist that you forget_. And then Cole seemed to return to himself—he was confused, as if he couldn’t recall what he’d just said.”

Dorian stared at her.

Eckona looked at them. “Cole, do you remember that?”

“No. No—he came to me, I could feel his possessive wanting. I could feel how much he wanted….” Cole shook his head. “I wanted to help but then….”

“Cole got Cole’d,” said the Bull, lifting his eyebrows.

“Did he use some kind of spell, Cole?” Eckona asked.

The boy looked at her blankly. “I…I don’t know.”

Eckona looked back at Dorian, who was still staring at her, open-mouthed. “What do you—er, Dorian? Are you all right?”

Dorian got up, setting his pipe aside and kneeling next to Cole. He looked into the boy’s over-large blue eyes. “Cole, you _are_ a spirit, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” he affirmed uncertainly.

“Making someone forget like that—his memory was wiped. That’s what Cole does to others—to make them forget him.” He looked back at Eckona. “Do you remember what Solas said when Cole arrived with us? Those are _not_ the abilities of a mage. Cole is a spirit. That he did that _to a spirit_ should be impossible. For any mage.”

“Corypheus could have done that though, right?” Sera asked.

“Yes—but Corypheus wasn’t just a mage either. He was a magister and _darkspawn_.”

Eckona’s eyes went wide, her shoulders slumped. “Then Solas……”

“Was he some kind of higher spirit or demon?” The Bull asked, peering at Cole. 

“In Tevinter—we have spirits we use as servants and we can set them to a variety of tasks. But Cole is not a normal spirit. He has free will. This isn’t about muscling a spirit into doing your bidding. It’s not as if he isn’t _allowing_ Cole to tell us. He _erased_ Cole’s memory. He erased a _spirit’s_ memory.”

Eckona felt like she was choking—the enormity of what that could indicate was too much to absorb. 

“Wait—didn’t he do that one other time?” Sera put in, sitting up. “Cole did that bring-up-awkward-truths thing again and was talking about how hurt you were and Solas asked him to stop but you let him continue and then alluva sudden he says: _where did they go?_ Was that the same thing?”

Dorian touched Cole’s shoulder. “Do you remember that, Cole?”

Cole looked everywhere but at Dorian, seeming unable to make eye contact. “I don’t know.”

Dorian sat back from him. He looked at Eckona. “….do you realize that….that means that Solas isn’t a normal apostate. He might be immortal—he could even be some form of darkspawn that we’re unfamiliar with. Or a demon so powerful that he could hide from all of us. Even Vivienne. Even _Corypheus_.”

“Which would make sense then if he wanted an elven artifact powerful enough to rip through the Veil and create the Breach,” Bull said quietly.

“But he…if he wanted to walk physically through the Fade—why didn’t he just use me?” Eckona asked, starting to feel faint.

“We didn’t know you could do that—you opened the Fade in desperation. We all would have died if you hadn’t. The Mark might even have acted through you. And it’s a part of that Orb.”

“Okay. All right. Okay…” Eckona said, swallowing hard, holding out her hands as if that would assist in logically piecing this together. “But what if he wasn’t strong enough to use the Orb himself—right and so—so he wanted it to beat Corypheus. Maybe he had an idea of who was behind the Breach but not….not how or why or….”

“Then why would he leave?” Dorian asked her, very gently. 

“And why erase Cole’s memory?” The Bull added, also not unkindly.

“Twice,” Sera huffed flatly.

The elf had no answer for that. Eckona offered her journal out to Dorian. “I…could you write it all down…I…I can’t…”

He nodded and carefully took it. “I will do that. Cover up and try to rest, Eckona. You’ve gone very cold. This is all speculation but something we must keep in mind.”

“Send it to your spymaster too,” Bull advised. “The sooner we know the truth, the sooner we can kick his ass. And it’ll put Cullen at ease.” 

Eckona looked down at her mark, feeling it twinge. She clenched her fingers into it.

The Iron Bull was like a blast furnace. He radiated heat in waves. He grabbed Eckona around the waist and pulled her towards him. “C’mon,” he said, pulling his massive bedroll over her and hunkered down next to her. Warmth flooded over her icy cold hands and frazzled mind. She was suddenly exhausted again, escaping quickly into desperate sleep. 

The Bull looked at the others. “We should contact Viv and ask if she noticed anything. And that Morrigan woman.”

“Yes,” Dorian mused, looking at the pages of Eckona’s journal. “We definitely should.” He flipped back to the first page to read.

“Hey, she didn’t say to _read_ the damn thing,” Sera told him, wrinkling her nose.

“Oh, how else shall I be entertained? Besides, no matter what things she did with Solas—it likely doesn’t compare to home. If he didn’t force her to participate in any blood sacrifices, she’ll already be a step ahead.”

“She may have seen things that she didn’t know were important,” The Bull put in, glancing down at the elf. “If he let anything slip to anyone—it would very likely have been with her. And because she isn’t a mage, well—she might not know some of it was important. Like a reverse honey-pot.”

“Like a seeping wound,” Cole murmured. “Clear it out to burn the infection, burn the infection. We are all of us a wound, a balm, infection and cure.”

“Yep,” Bull agreed because there really wasn’t a point in trying to parse it all out when no one had Cole’s context.

“Only thing that bastard was good for,” Sera huffed. “Translating him.”

“Now, don’t say that,” Dorian told her, lifting his eyebrows at one page in particular. “Apparently, he was _quite_ skilled with his tongue.”

“Ew, fuck _off_!” Sera kicked his bedroll.

“Really?” Bull asked, sounding interested. 

“And apparently, she didn’t know one could or would _do_ that—oh my. This poor sheltered Lethallan has not had much in the way of past lovers, has she?”

Bull looked down at the small elf woman. “We could fix that. I’m bigger than he was.”

“Thicker perhaps, as well,” Dorian said, clearly before he thought about it. 

“I hope you don’t know that first hand?”

“I don’t,” Dorian affirmed. “Not about Solas, anyway.” And then, quickly, “And not about _you_ either. I only meant that—“

“There’s always time for research.”

“Oh my shit, stop it!” Sera commanded. “I don’t want to think about his stupid cock or _your_ stupid cock!”

Dorian opened his mouth to retort and then looked thoughtfully at the Iron Bull. And then he looked back to the journal.

Bull grinned. 

“I don’t understand,” Cole said.

“You wouldn’t,” Sera groused, turning over on her bedroll.

 

 

_He knelt to her, gently touching the side of her face. The Anchor flared, shooting lightening pain up her shoulder and into her chest. “S-Solas,” she breathed. “Please—don’t—“_

_“I am sorry,” he said softly. “But this must be done. You must forget_ \--“

 

 

She catapulted up, scrambling to the side, grabbing her dagger in both fists. 

The Bull jerked, leaning over her and putting a huge hand down next to her hip, caging her in with his body. “Boss?”

She panted, looking frantically around the campsite. The campsite. Yes. Yes, she was at the campsite. Her dagger lowered and she slumped forward, leaning on the Bull’s upper arm. “Sorry,” she murmured.

He shook his head. “We all have the nightmares. Go on—Dorian and Sera are still asleep. Cole is…doing whatever Cole does. Go wash up.” He leaned back, uprooting his palm to let her get up.

She was soaked in sweat. It made her feel nearly feverish as she pushed the heavy bedroll off of herself and got to her feet. Bull put a couple fingers on her back to steady her but said nothing of it. He was good like that. She walked slowly from the cave they’d spent the night in, following a path down to the nearby river. There was a waterfall to the north only a few minutes’ walk. She went to it. The pounding of water on rock was soothing, like white noise. Something to fill the empty silence. She removed her armor and boots, setting them aside in a neat stack in the grass. Her clothes were sticking to her unpleasantly with salt and sweat and leftover blood from the day before. She waded into the water with them on, climbing up on the rocks and perching under the cascade. She removed them there, sitting on a flat stone and scrubbing at them with pebbles and mud until she almost couldn’t smell them anymore. She rinsed each piece and waded, naked, back to her armor. She hung her clothes up on a tree branch and went back into the waterfall to wait for them to dry. She could have used magic, she supposed—she now knew enough to do so but…it didn’t seem necessary. She needed to think.

Her gaze reflected back at her in the water. Like a distorted mirror, she could glimpse her face. Still clear of the vallaslin. She touched the skin around her right eye. “Should have kept it after all,” she muttered but the ire she wanted to force into the sentiment just wasn’t there. Now that she knew it was a slave’s marking (assuming Solas hadn’t lied about _that_ too), she’d never be able to _un_ know.

She shook her head, trying to dislodge all the _could have been_ s. There was no point in that now. Now, they must get to the Temple of Dirthamen. The god of secrets and knowledge.

_Assuming, of course, that Dirthamen was a God—and not a person, like Mythal._

Anyway, it seemed the best chance of any. She might be able to look into the past. Find a memory. Something, anything that might give them a hint to explain the Orb. Anything that might give them a sliver of insight into Solas’ location or intention. Knowledge and secrets. It had to be there. It _must_.

She let the waterfall soak her for a time, let it quiet her thoughts and try to organize them, before she left it, wading back to her clothes. 

Cole was there. He’d built a fire.

She stared at him, suddenly extremely aware of her nakedness and ducking over to her shirt to pull it off the tree limb.

He did not seem perturbed by it, or rather—didn’t even appear to notice it, until he looked into her face and felt her anxiety. He offered out a cloth and she reached over and took it. 

“Er. Thank you.”

“Your clothes are dry now,” he said, watching her pull her shirt on. 

“Do you need something, Cole?” she asked, definitely _not_ looking at him as she grabbed her breeches and pulled them on. He was a spirit, yes, but sometimes it was hard to separate that when he appeared human in every respect. At least until he opened his mouth and spoke. She was shy about nakedness sometimes. Cole likely didn’t understand the physical concept of nakedness or why it would matter. He didn’t understand innuendo for, likely, the same reason. And for some reason, nakedness didn’t matter so much to her in front of Dorian and Sera and she only got the faintest prickle of it in front of The Bull (because he was just so…. _big_ and it made her aware of how small she was). They had traveled together so long that seeing one another in various stages of undress was common and expected. They separated for privacy when they could but it wasn’t always permissible. It seemed mostly to be in front of Cole that she was uncomfortable.

“Discomfort, fluttering, making your heart snap. It’s not _me_ it’s what I represent to you in _innocence_. Childlike, you want to look after it—me,” he said faintly, sounding astounded again. “Anxiety in front of Vivienne is different—she’s beautiful and you don’t feel like you compare or shouldn’t compare but she is so beautiful. In front of Solas—afraid he will find some flaw, some catch, something in your body that will erase how tantalized he seems when he looks at you. Like a feast he must possess. What you have besides your mind that will make him _desire_ you. You wanted him to _desire_ you and you were so afraid and ashamed of it that you took extra care not to be bare in front of him until he kissed you. In Haven but not in Haven, mouth descending, powerful and possessive and you had never felt so much _desire_ directed at you before and it was overwhelming how close he was and the scent of pepper and copper—“

“Cole,” she interrupted, face going pale and swallowing hard.

“You did not notice many things after that. How he treated others or the things he said to you. That guilt eats at you now. Why didn’t you notice his flaws? Why can you only see them clearly now? You thought he was guilty of something from the beginning but you fell so deeply that it started not to matter. You think that fault is yours. You could have prevented this if you had been paying attention? But no one around you did either. No one could have prevented this. Everyone trusted him.”

“Did you trust him, Cole?”

Cole looked at the small fire he’d built. “I do not understand it. It is the feeling that, if I hurt innocent people, you will kill me, I think. I _trust_ you to do that. You gave your _word_. Solas liked spirits and was not afraid of me. He did not lie to me either. But he could control his _intent_.”

Eckona sat near him on a stump and pulled on her boot. “I suppose that…as a spirit of Compassion, there is no….good or bad. There is only what will _help_. Whether it’s good or bad depends on the person—not on you because…there is no concrete good or bad. You are Compassion…which can go to anyone.”

“So. I am…not good or bad.”

“Yes. I guess you just….are. You’re…you.”

“I’m me,” he agreed. “Though. Sometimes I look in The Iron Bull’s head and I see the things he does and it doesn’t always make sense but he seems to like it. There is usually rope. It makes me curious.”

Eckona looked aside awkwardly, unable to fight the oh-I-didn’t-need-to-know-that smile from sliding up her face. “Well. I. Can’t really. Help with that, I guess.”

“Should I ask The Iron Bull to help?”

“No,” Eckona told him, swiftly. “Just. Just no.”

There was a splashing sound like twittering birds and Sera came upon them. “Hey, looks like I missed the show already, eh?” She asked, peeling off her shirt.

“Dammit, Sera!” Eckona burst out, reaching over to cover Cole’s eyes.

“He doesn’t _get_ it, Eck. Calm down.”

“You know he’s asking me about what the Iron Bull _does_ at night.”

Sera burst out laughing, stripping totally naked and running into the waterfalls. “I don’t get it either,” she called to them. “Women must hurt after being with him but _men_ \--how the fucking shit do they _walk_ afterwards. They don’t stretch the way we do, right?”

“Stop!” Eckona pleaded, starting to laugh and trying to cover Cole’s ears by pushing down the sides of his giant, floppy hat.

“You can’t keep him innocent forever. Not with Bull and Dorian and me around!”

 

 

 

The temple was well-hidden. They had come upon it without even realizing it. There were no doors and no remains left above, save for an odd cracked stone or two. The Iron Bull, from his vantage point about two or three feet above them, spotted some kind of alcove. When they went to it, they discovered the stairs.

Eckona was practically wiggling in anticipation. There must be a library or maybe a collection of memories? There would be answers here! There _had_ to be! Cole’s hunch had led them here, after all. She led the way down the stairs, about to unstrap her bow until Dorian stopped her. 

“Let us practice your magic here, instead,” said the mage. “Fire and necromancy,” he advised. “There are many undead here. Can you feel them?”

“I smell rot and mold—like something sickly sweet,” she answered. 

“That’s just Dorian’s hair grease. Try again,” Sera snarked.

“Quiet you,” Dorian retorted.

“I can feel…” she took a breath to quiet her thoughts and let her senses reach out. “…yes, there are lots of undead here.”

“Are they elven undead?” The Bull asked, fingering his axe.

“I don’t…well. I don’t know?” Eckona mused. “I don’t know how to tell.”

“They’re not,” Cole said, looking straight down into the muck staining his calves. “But they are angry and sad. Madness.”

“Oh. Perfect,” Bull grunted, pulling his axe off his back.

They were greeted by a wolf statue. 

“Hey, Fen’Harel,” Eckona murmured, reaching out to absently pet the stone animal and was surprised when she got a flash of understanding from the tablet in front of it. “Whoa…that was ancient Elvish wasn’t it?”

“Yes—curiously, we all understood it,” Dorian mused. “Some sort of enchantment, perhaps?”

“Mmm, Fenny’s got moss in his teeth,” Sera pointed out but did not step forward to clear it off.

Eckona didn’t either. She was busy copying down the Elvish and then putting the translation under it. “I swear I’m going to work with Morrigan until I can understand this stuff. At least we have her at Skyhold—translating every bit of ancient elvish we can give to her.”

“Yes, I believe she was nearly orgasmic when you handed her the volume you found in Mythal’s temple. And the rubbings of the stones, of course,” Dorian commented as they went left first.

“If I got to give rubbings to her I’d be orgasmic too,” Bull informed them.

Sera burst out laughing. It sounded loud in the corridors as they sloshed through the water.

For the first time, Dorian stepped aside at the Veil Fire torch, gesturing for her to light it. “Go on,” he urged. “Give it a try. You need only warp magic around it—molding it into fire isn’t necessary. It will remember what it was.”

She chewed her lip and held out her hand to it. “Like grasping into the film around the Fade, right?” 

“Yes, feel for the barrier and reach through it like bed sheets to touch beyond.”

She closed her eyes and _reached_ like she had in the Fade for the curtain over the rune. She felt it sweep over her arm like a buzzing field.

“You have it,” Dorian told her in a murmur, so not to disrupt her concentration. “Now, gently pull it towards us.”

Her fingers curled in, a mirror on the outside of what she felt from the Fade. Like a ripple, like trying to grip spider silk. And then suddenly—she _felt_ it. She felt the Fade pull away from the Veil and mold itself around her fist and she could _see_ the Veil Fire. She connected them, like kindling to a spark and the Veil Fire flared into life.

She opened her eyes and couldn’t help but smile. “I did it.”

“Well done,” Dorian told her. “Your first Veil Fire. Go on.”

She lit the torch, looking up at the teal light. “It’s so strange—warm but not.”

“It is from the Fade—it’s a memory of fire. It both exists and doesn’t exist.”

“Ugh, that’s so stupid!” Sera groaned. “Things should either exist or not!”

“I could see it—I mean—I _felt_ it,” Eckona told Dorian, beaming. “I—I mean, I did at first but—but about halfway to the torch, I mean I suddenly _really_ felt it! I could feel the difference—I don’t know how to describe it. It was like—when you feel the floor shaking but you aren’t touching it but you know it is because you can feel the vibration.”

“That is how you know you are becoming more adept at feeling the Fade and the Veil.”

They searched the whole temple. They even woke up some old priest by finding creepy organs. Eckona kept looking—she’d been through every room three times, found seven various runes to write down. 

But nothing else. Nothing except an enchanted shield. 

“No—okay—we—we enter the Fade, right, Dorian? I can enter the Fade here. There has to be _something_.”

Dorian nodded, glancing around at the others. “There could be—there also may not be anything, Inquisitor.”

“No, there has to be _something_!” She burst out, heading up to the platform where all the altars were sitting and kneeling down among them. “There has to be _something_! Cole would not have led us here if there wasn’t!”

The Bull looked sidelong at Cole. “Well, kid—why _did_ you take us to the Baths? We got the rune, the runes led us here. Do you know what’s here?”

Cole looked at them all. “No. It just felt…wrong. We needed to come here.”

“Why?” Dorian asked him.

Cole twitched, starting to rock back and forth a little, fiddling with his gloves. “I was—they were scared. Blood everywhere. The flicks of life into the water, before there was water, there was pain that clung to every surface like fog. There was blood on walls and altars and stone. There were memories here. They might be gone now. No one knows. I don’t like it. But here the Veil is thin—much death happened here. Many flicks of blood scattered to the breeze in a red mist. _He_ wanted to come here. He suspected something was here. Some _secret_. Something that might help him _recover_ it.”

“Recover what?” Dorian pressed.

Cole looked at them all and then shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Are you talking about Solas?” The Bull asked him.

Cole fidgeted again. “That Solas—but maybe not this one. This Solas was different. He was different. He learned the Dreaming but he felt like a different person after he Woke up from the Dream. Everything was different.”

“It’s all Orlais to me,” Sera grumbled. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Eckona insisted. “Cole says go into the Fade and look for memories. That’s what I’m doing. Dorian—get the lyrium.”

“We ought be very careful with this lyrium, Eckona. You’ve seen the effect it had on Commander Cullen.” Dorian took out the vial of lyrium. “I will look into how to learn lucid dreaming. Vivienne is familiar with it.”

“I don’t think Vivienne would teach me. I’m an apostate to her. She’ll probably assume I’ll be possessed. I’ll look into it when we return to Skyhold. Or when we find Solas, I’ll beat it out of him.”

“Anger is good. Better than melancholy,” The Bull encouraged, gathering kindling to start a small fire. “Focus on that.”

Eckona sat cross-legged, Dorian sat beside her. “Don’t pull me after you this time, Dorian. I want to try and cross over on my own.”

“All right. I will observe. If you feel panicked, I will aid you.”

“Thank you.”

Eckona closed her eyes, breathing in the stale, damp air of the temple. She felt a faint draft and then a brush of warmth as Cole sat down with them. He was calming next to her, helped to settle her nerves. He would not have brought them here if there wasn’t _something_ for them to find. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t, right? He was Compassion. He tried to help. Always.

She swallowed hard and then felt Cole touched her hand. He wasn’t as cold as she suspected. He was warm. Like a real person. For some reason, it helped steady her and she reached out with her senses. Her magic fluttered and flickered, twisting around them and she could really _look_ now. She opened up her mind’s eye and gazed at the Veil. It was strange—not like a door to another place—but more like a gauzy curtain, merely obscuring. She skimmed her fingers across it gently and again, got the impression of a curtain, a lace curtain. Something to slip through. 

_Something to reach through and see him_

She almost lost her grip on the curtain. She shook herself and stepped through it. Dorian was already there, waiting on the other side. He looked over her when she stepped in next to him. 

“I’m all right,” she said faintly. 

Cole appeared next to them. 

Dorian walked into the temple as it flickered around them. 

The memories they found were disjointed, a few faint spirits who showed them the carving of statues. Others who could only show them the madness and butchery from a few months previous. It made Cole’s whole demeanor shudder, unable to help. 

They searched any of the rooms that they could bring into existence around them. 

“Eckona,” Dorian said gently. “There may not—“

“This is a temple of secrets and knowledge. There…there has to be…something…here…”

“There!” Cole cried out, pointing at one of the walls. He walked forward and the mage and ranger hurried after him. The spirit went around the wall and stepped into a small, sunken chamber. “This is underneath the temple now. But then, it wasn’t.”

Resting on a small platform, was an Orb.

The three of them stared at it.

Eckona reached forward to touch it but it was strange, tingling against her skin, brightening harsh and then _pulling_. She cried out, though her voice suddenly sounded strange—like someone else was crying out with her. The Anchor flared hot and blinding pain stabbed through the elf. She staggered to her knees, holding onto her left wrist. The Mark was spreading, scattering across her skin like a fever. She couldn’t see. Everything was too hot. Black and green traveling up her arm and throat, strangling her—

And then everything became silent. Silent and pale silver, white. She was standing, suddenly, watching. Watching a woman, a stranger to her, as she wrote in some sort of book. She cast drying sand over the damp ink. The lantern light flickered around her. The woman paused, as if feeling eyes on her. She turned around and then stood. 

An Orb was sitting on a small stand on her desk. 

Whether she felt Eckona’s gaze or something else, she didn’t know. The woman suddenly looked alarmed. She whirled around, scooping up the Orb and wrapping it in cloth. She shoved it into a satchel, grabbed her book and fled.

 

 

When Eckona opened her eyes again, she was on her back. Dorian was beside her, a palm on her chest. He looked visibly relieved when she blinked at him, becoming aware again. “Thank goodness,” Dorian breathed, sitting back onto the stone.

“What happened?” 

“We saw something—another Orb and you…had some kind of fit.”

“Did you see the woman!?” she demanded.

“The woman writing? Yes—but we had to get you out of the Fade. You were screaming. The Mark was killing you.”

“Where did she go? The woman who was writing! She ran away!”

“I don’t know,” Dorian said softly and looked at Cole.

Cole shook his head. “She was afraid. She knew something was coming. She ran.”

“Who was she? Where did she go?”

The mage and the spirit looked at the ground. “We don’t know,” Dorian answered softly. “More importantly, I need to find out how Solas kept the Mark from killing you. It is usually dormant unless you use it to close rifts. But it reacted so suddenly and so powerfully—it was everything Cole and I could do to get you out of the Fade. I had to use necromancy to suppress it so it wouldn’t stop your heart—the opposite way I would normally use necromancy. I felt like a Templar but using Death instead of reinforcing reality.”

The Bull helped Eckona sit up. Sera was pacing around the square, agitated. “I have to try again,” Eckona murmured, shoving herself to her feet. “Give me the….the lyrium, Dorian. I have to see where she…where she went—“

“No! You dumb bitch!” Sera exclaimed. “It almost killed you!”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea until I can help you control it,” Dorian added.

“No—you—“ Eckona panted. “I have to see where she went. I _have_ to. She had an Orb. It’s important.”

“Dorian, you give her the lyrium and I’ll shoot you. And then, Eck, I’ll shoot _you_ for being a stupid bint.”

“The memory ended after that. She ran away. You wouldn’t be able to see where she went,” Cole told her.

Eckona looked at Cole, trying to discern if he was lying but then—he was a spirit of compassion. Why would he lie? “And the Orb—it will _hurt_ you,” he went on, plaintively, “You have to be careful. You’re not strong enough to keep it.”

“C’mon, boss—we should go back to Skyhold for now.”

Eckona looked at the four of them and shuddered. She could only nod silently, not trusting her voice.

 

 

The Bull put an arm under Dorian to help him walk—the strain of magic he’d had to use was clearly more than he’d let on. 

“That was, uh….a good, uh, idea. You know? Using necromancy to suppress….the Mark,” she managed, only now noticing the circles under his eyes. He was exhausted. 

“She wants to tell you that she’s sorry. That she should have noticed what all this was doing to you—to us.”

Eckona sighed softly. “It loses all effect when you just come out and say what I mean, Cole.”

Dorian waved it away. “It’s all an elaborate show, I promise. I wanted to see if the Bull has as many muscles as he claims.”

“That is a service I happily provide,” the Bull told him, smirking.

Once outside, they mounted their horses to head for the nearest village (to alleviate any lingering temptation Eckona might have to try to enter the Fade by herself) to rest. They sent word ahead to Skyhold and arrived a few days after it. 

Cullen had a constantly rotating watch and had the bell rung when they were in sight. The commander hurried down to the gates, Cassandra hot on his heels. 

“Entering the Fade! Are you a lunatic!?” Cassandra demanded.

Cullen went to Eckona and put his hands on her waist to gently ease her off her horse. “Are you all right, Inquisitor? We feared the worst when we received word.”

Eckona tensed at his touch, surprised when he pulled her down from her horse. “What the heck did the Bull tell you?”

“Oh—he—“ Cullen looked at the other four and then pulled out the short letter. “Found temple. Inquisitor went into the Fade. Mark almost killed her. Bad shape. Heading home.”

“Bull!”

The Iron Bull sniggered.

“Nothing about my gallant rescue with necromancy? Iron Bull, I am disappointed at you.”

Cullen let her go, seeming embarrassed and perhaps, a little startled. “Oh. I—well, still. Come to the infirmary. We should have you checked out by the healers, just in case.”

“I don’t need—“

“Oh, just go with him,” Dorian huffed. “Else he’ll fret his blond head about it.”

“The Inquisitor’s protection is my responsibility,” Cullen said stiffly.

“Yes, yes, of course,” Dorian told him, waving it away. 

Eckona sighed and nodded. “Righto, then, Commander. Lead away.”

Cullen crossed his arms, seeming satisfied and turned to walk into the keep. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m sorry Bull had you worried. He’s so frustrating sometimes. I don’t know why he didn’t mention that I was fine.”

“Well—you’re not. I can see that you aren’t _fine_. None of you are. Well, Cole and the Bull seem much the same. But Dorian was exhausted, seemed almost stretched. And Sera didn’t make one comment at all—so something scared her. And you…” he glanced down at her, stopping as they made their way under the keep. The torchlights made shadows grow across his face. “Something seems…shattered almost.”

Eckona felt a little uncomfortable with the sudden scrutiny in his amber gaze. She looked aside. “I—Dorian and Cole and I saw the Orb in the Fade. Or well, at least _an_ Orb. I don’t know if its _the_ Orb that was shattered. But there was a woman. She grabbed it and ran. Something was coming for her. I wanted to go back in to see it…but Dorian said it was very difficult getting me out. He said I was incoherent, mostly unconscious.”

“Maker,” Cullen breathed softly, crossing his arms sternly again. “You should not be toying around in the Fade until you know how to control your Mark within it. That’s very dangerous.” 

“We had to.”

“No—Dorian could have done it himself,” Cullen told her, starting to walk again.

“I have to learn how to do it!” She told him, putting her hands on her hips. “If we’re ever going to find Solas—“

“Solas _doesn’t want to be found_!” Cullen snapped, whirling around on her.

She froze in the empty hallway, staring up at him. 

Cullen closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I should not have said that. I know it’s important to find Solas and figure out what exactly he had to do with the Orb and Corypheus. But knowing that and watching you put yourself at risk for him over and over again…it is frustrating. Solas is a stubborn man. Whatever made him run away, you won’t be able to convince him to depart from it. He still thinks Dalish elves and humans are terrible—even after being with all of us. He is set in his ways and I don’t think he wants to change that.”

“I…” she looked down. “I…just…want to understand _why_ …”

“I know. I’m sorry. It was not my place to, well….come on.” Cullen put a hand on her shoulder and urged her forward. "You can speak with Leliana afterwards. She is preparing to leave for Val Royeaux to become the Divine."


	12. Going Big Legion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas/Lavellan  
> \------------  
> That was sad for me in-game when Sera mocks the Inquisitor after Solas removes the Vallaslin from her face. I was like, "Really? C'mon, Sera."
> 
> Also, I never thought about how often Solas must have to shave his head. Until now.  
> \------------
> 
> “Oh, God. You _do_ , don’t you. Oh Solas, the mighty mage. Uses magic to warm his ears, so his mother doesn’t come and grab one to drag him off.”
> 
> He shook his head, unable to help but grin. “If you’d met my mother, you’d be glad she isn’t here.”
> 
> “It’s hard for me to imagine your mother. Was she bald too?”
> 
> He burst out laughing

She awoke slowly. She was wonderfully warm, body relaxed and limp. She shifted under her blankets—this was the best feeling in the whole world. Being in bed with nowhere to go. She turned onto her side, eyes finally perking open.

Sunlight was streaming into the room from one of the glass doors. The rest were closed, curtains drawn but Solas must have opened this one (that, or Cole had snuck in). She reached out, touching the bed, becoming alert on realizing he wasn’t there. 

She was naked under the sheets and the open door allowed enough of a breeze to make her skin break out in gooseflesh. She found Solas’ tunic under one of the pillows and pulled it over her head. It hung on her and it smelled like him. She rubbed the arms, pushing the sleeves up her forearms so they wouldn’t hang and then reached up to smooth down her hair. “Solas?” She asked the room at large.

The door to the wet room opened and he came out to smile at her. 

His smile always seemed to gentle his sharp features. It smoothed the harshness in his eyes, the stern set of his mouth. He was wearing his trousers and had a washcloth on his bare shoulder. “Good morning,” he told her, carrying a long, thin razor and some soap over to her water basin, which was standing upright between the open door and the fireplace. 

She beamed at him and crawled down the bed to lay on her front, kicking her legs up behind her. “What are you doing?”

For a moment, he looked almost self-conscious and then he rubbed a palm over his head. “My hair is growing back.”

She blinked. Oh. Of course. Right. It’s not like he was naturally bald. She’d never really thought about it, she supposed. She slid up from the bed, curling her legs under her. “What color is your hair? Same as your eyebrows?”

“It’s black,” he told her, laying the razor down and scrubbing foam onto one palm.

She got up, padding over to him to look in the mirror and watch.

He couldn’t seem to help but smile, bemused at her interest. “What is it?”

“Just observing,” she told him.

He eyed her and then smeared foam onto his head. It made a creamy sound, like frosting a cake.

“Did you always shave your head?”

“Not always. I began to not long ago.”

“So…when this is over—will you grow your hair so I can see what you look like with it?”

That made him laugh. “Would you prefer me with hair?”

“I didn’t say that!” she said, lightly punching his arm. “I’m just curious. Besides, doesn’t your head get cold up here in the mountains?”

“Not as much as you might think.”

She snorted. “What, do you use magic?”

He looked at her in the mirror, grimacing.

“Oh, God. You _do_ , don’t you. Oh Solas, the mighty mage. Uses magic to warm his ears, so his mother doesn’t come and grab one to drag him off.”

He shook his head, unable to help but grin. “If you’d met my mother, you’d be glad she isn’t here.”

“It’s hard for me to imagine your mother. Was she bald too?”

He burst out laughing. “You’re going to make me cut my scalp.”

“Well, here. Sit down.” She held her palm out.

He looked at her. “What?”

“Ugh, give me the razor, dummy. I’m not going to cut your ears off. Let me help you.”

“Have you ever shaved anything before?”

“I shaved sheep a couple times. You can’t be much worse than that.”

He narrowed his eyes at her.

She laughed and took the razor while he grabbed a chair to sit in front of the mirror. She pushed his sleeves up again and checked his scalp, smearing foam in any spots that looked scanty. “So is your hair naturally curly or wild or something? Is that why you shave it off?”

“Curly? No.”

“I’m really wanting to imagine you with curly, wild hair.” She grinned at him in the mirror.

He huffed at her, but he looked amused when he did it so she knew it was all right. Gently, she scraped the razor across his skin. 

“How do you always get all the spots? It must take forever.”

“It does.”

“Next time, just come and let me help you,” she advised. “It’ll be faster. And more fun.” She smirked at him in the mirror.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

For a few minutes, it was quiet. The two of them just enjoying each other’s company while she shaved his head. The razor made a satisfying little _shhhk_ sound when she wiped it. She laid the razor aside when she finished, gently wiping off his head and checking around his ears for errant foam. 

“There you are,” she told him, reaching up and putting her fingers on his scalp. “Smooth as glass.” She leaned into his shoulder to kiss his cheek.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, suddenly looking rather shy.

“My pleasure,” she told him and gently wrapped her arms around his bare shoulders. Her fingers drummed on his chest and she nipped at the tip of his ear. Her cheek was smooth against his temple. 

“Perhaps…when all this is over,” he said slowly, “you’ll be able to see me with hair.”

She grinned at him in the mirror. “Oh, Solas. I love you.” She bounced to stand in front of the chair and climbed into his lap. She kissed him, holding onto his freshly-shaven skin. “You smell like mint,” she told him, grinning against his mouth. 

“You like mint, do you not?”

“Yes, I do!” She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him again. His hands trailed, setting on her parted thighs and then sliding up her hips and under his shirt. 

She was heady with the feeling that gave her. The little things like that meant so much more than she could have imagined. One of her hands slid down his chest, grabbing the ties on his trousers and opening them. 

“ _Vhenan_ ,” he started.

She cut him off, smirking against his mouth, sliding her hand inside and over him. She felt him shudder as she twisted her palm, slowly working up and down. His skin heated up quickly. His hands were clawing into her ribs. He started to move them again, grabbing into his shirt to pull it off of her—but she moved back.

His eyes opened, curious.

She got to her bare feet on the rug and slid down to the floor. She opened his trousers up completely, taking him out. 

She _heard_ Solas swallow hard. “ _Vhenan_ , you—“

She leaned in, smoothing her tongue against him. His body jerked, tensing every muscle. She dipped again, starting lower and dragging up to the tip. She looked up at him.

He was staring down at her, shaking a little at the effort to maintain his control. 

She let her mouth sink over the top, lips closing around him. He grunted, gritting his teeth and his fingers dug into the chair. She sunk lower, sliding one palm up his thigh to find one of his hands. She pulled it away from the chair, connecting it to her shoulder instead. He dug his fingers in, shuddering hard as he fought to keep his silence. His _control_. His _restraint._

She sucked as she moved up and then ducked down again—it made him gasp, softly. His fingers edged up, curling into her hair and smoothing his thumb against her ear, soothing. She went deeper, swallowing around him, sucking gently, keeping the rhythm consistent and feeling how quickly he was stiffening up. Still, he managed to maintain enough control not to pull her hair. It was impressive. 

She raised herself a little higher on her knees to gain a little more leverage, depth, speed. _That_ made him cry out, a small and shaky sound. Her hands went to his muscled thighs, rubbing them slowly as she bobbed her head.

He twitched in her mouth. Hearing him come apart above her was somehow better than seeing it. She closed her eyes, moaning against him. His other hand found her upper arm, curling into his own shirt sleeve, anchoring himself on her. She pressed her tongue against the head, dragging slow with suction—

He came _hard_ , grabbing into her, jerking her by the arm and groaning faintly. His shoulders hunched, panting for breath as spasms rocked through him. She worked him through it and when he finished, she pulled back and opened her eyes again.

He was staring at her, stunned, like he’d never seen her before. He reached down, grabbing her under her arms and pulling her up to him. He simply held her for a moment, grabbing the washtowel and dipping it in the warm water. He gently cleaned her up. “Are you all right?”

She smiled a little, warm and somewhat shy. “Yes,” she answered softly.

“Good.” He set the towel aside and kissed her.

 

Eckona’s eyes opened. She sighed softly, chewing on her lip. A dream—well, no—a memory. But a dream, still. She was curled up in a tight little ball on one side of the bed. It felt too big for just her. 

“No…” she murmured softly to herself. No time for that. Yes, there was heartache. But she had to move on. Even _if_ they found Solas again and even _if_ he wasn’t some kind of higher spirit or demon and even _if_ he agreed to return with them…nothing would be the same. What if they had to fight him? She must be prepared for that—they might even have to _kill_ him. As sick as that made her inside—she knew it was a possibility. Whatever he really was, _whoever_ he truly was, he was dangerous. He was powerful. And he knew everything about the Inquisition and, perhaps more unfortunately, about _her_.

She’d pray for it to not come to that but…she was beginning to think there really were no gods at all. Human, elven, Qunari, dwarven or anything inbetween. Perhaps there was nothing but Void.

She shook her head. No time for that now. She was proceeding the send-off for Leliana. It was a formality to do in front of the keep, but there would be drinks afterwards. She got up and bathed and came out to find Josephine unbundling a surcoat. 

“Inquisitor, excuse me interrupting but the mages and tailors finished this for you last night and they would be honored for you to wear it for the ceremony.”

Eckona walked up to it, holding her towel. The surcoat was black silk, soft and embroidered with the Inquisition insignia in gold and silver. “Wow…this is…”

“And it’s enchanted and can’t be torn—at least, not easily. It’s a formal armored surcoat. The inside is lined with frostback dragon leather.”

“They’re giving this to _me_?”

“Oh yes—many such things will likely appear now that Corypheus is gone. A few nice gifts are not so hard to accept when you save the world.” Josephine beamed.

“I—well—oh. I guess, uh. I guess so. It seems awfully rich.”

“Oh, it is!” Josephine gushed. “That’s real gold and silver threading and the silk is from Antiva, I can attest to its superior quality. It is dyed in a special black plum that grows only on the coast. And the leather, of course, came from you—when you went out with the Iron Bull after we received the written request to deal with a dragon near the Basin.”

“Wow—well—I—of course I’ll wear it. Give them my thanks, would you?”

“Of course, my lady. I’ve also brought some new leathers to wear with it and a sash for the waist. You will look radiant with your silver hair, my lady.”

She dressed in the rich clothes, hardly recognizing herself when she looked in the mirror. Still, Josephine was right. The black was stark against her silver hair and it brought out the silver embroidery. “All right,” she told herself sternly. “Armor on. No being sad today.”

 

She gave her blessing (for what it was worth) to Leliana when her spymaster knelt before her to formally announce her intention to become the Divine. And then she felt weird standing up while Leliana knelt. “Oh, get up, Leliana,” she said and embraced her. 

Leliana tensed in surprise and if anyone saw a slightly softer look come into her eyes, no one mentioned it. She embraced the Inquisitor in return.

“I owe you so much, Leliana. If you need anything in Val Royeaux….you need only write.”

“You saved the world, Inquisitor. Now it’s time to try fixing this one.” 

She reached into her satchel and pulled out a blood orange. “For the road.”

“You _do_ pick up on things, don’t you?” Leliana said, taking the orange and winking at her. 

And with that, her spymaster turned away.

“She’s going Big Legion now,” Bull told them. “Ah. Redheads.”

“Big Legion?” Dorian asked.

“Ah…professional, uh, becoming more important than anyone ever thought, you know?”

“Ah, yes. She’s definitely going Big Legion,” Dorian chuckled.

“Other way around,” Eckona told them. “The Sunburst Throne is going Big Legion.”

“She’s seriously gonna scare the shit out of all those clerics,” Varric grinned, shaking his head. “Better them than us.”

“I _literally_ can’t wait to start getting her reports,” Eckona added.

“Why’d you give her an orange?” Sera asked. “Hell’d you get an orange around here?”

Eckona smiled. “It, uh—long story.”

“Not _that_ long,” Cole said unhelpfully.

“Cole,” she said, pointing at him warningly.

The spirit smiled shyly again, covering his mouth when he suddenly laughed.

“You’re getting pretty good at the jokes, kid,” Varric grinned at him.

Cole smiled to himself, fiddling with his gloves. "Thank you, Varric." Cole always said Varric's name differently than the others. It was always a complete pronunciation of every sound. It was as if he were enjoying how it felt in his teeth.

“Oh god, every time he talks, I just want to wrap him in a blanket and give him a cookie,” Eckona said quietly.

Iron Bull snorted on a laugh. “Yeah, but then you remember that he can also kill the shit out of things.”

“Invisibly.”

Iron Bull nodded. “It’s always the quiet ones.”

Eckona turned her head and looked up at him. She grinned.

He grinned back.

“Inquisitor!”

Eckona looked around in the main hall and was surprised to see the First Enchanter. “Vivienne? When did you get here?”

“Almost two weeks ago, dear—but you’ve been gone for most of it. I wanted to let you rest when you returned. I know how _trying_ it must be, searching for our _dear_ Solas.”

Eckona’s mouth tightened into a thin line. “I see. You received our bird then?”

“Yes, darling and so I thought to do both at once. See Leliana off and tell you what I observed about the apostate.”

Eckona nodded stiffly. “Ah, thank you, Vivienne. Let’s go to the study.”

“You, of course, are aware of my feelings on lucid Dreaming to enter the Fade—an untrained mage like yourself would be hard-pressed to keep away demons. And there would be no one to help you. Only another Dreamer would be able to find you.”

The others followed after them, letting Eckona lead them to the side room where Josephine’s desk sat.

“I know it’s dangerous—but I need to learn how to lucid dream.”

“Darling, I tried to tell you _many_ months ago. Your suspicions of Solas were founded. So much knowledge. So little personal history. Every time, it is the same.”

“Your suspicions of Solas?” Cassandra asked. “You did not tell me you were suspicious of Solas.”

Eckona sighed. “I…”

“You never told anyone, dear?”

Eckona looked away.

“Goodness. To knowingly turn away from such a thing, unable to face the idea that he may have used you like an old boot.”

Eckona’s shoulders bristled. 

Vivienne’s face lost the false smile. “I warned you. You’ve no one to blame but yourself." 

“When did this start?” Cassandra asked. 

Eckona looked away from her. “When I—when I met him.”

“And you said _nothing_ ,” Cassandra frowned at her so hard that Eckona could hear it in her tone.

“I—I didn’t know what to say! I couldn’t—I—I couldn’t put my finger on it—what exactly it was! It was just little things! And then I—I thought I would watch him and observe and the more I got to know him….”

“You cannot survive in this world on sentimentality, Inquisitor. You will be all too easy to manipulate.” 

“Hey, it’s not like you said anythin,” Sera spit, glaring at Vivienne.

“She told _me_ ,” Eckona said softly, suddenly realizing it herself. “She told me and I said nothing. I didn’t share it with Leliana or anyone else. I…wanted to think I was…overreacting. Or that Vivienne was just being a bitch. But….”

“Yes and now perhaps you see the wisdom of listening to someone who _knows_ people, darling. How they act, how they rise, and how they fall. I have said since I came here that Solas was a dangerous apostate. It’s very possible that he’s been possessed. Or, like countless others before him, he succumbed to his own selfishness.” Vivienne looked down at her. “For what it’s worth, my dear, I _am_ sorry that he left you. But when given that the consequences of _your_ inaction is that he may be something more dangerous than Corypheus: well, if you ever see him again, I hope it’s a quick end. For one or both of you.” Vivienne turned away from her, heading for the door.

Eckona’s fingers were curled into fists. “Vivienne! Do you know anything about what he really is?”

Vivienne turned her magnificent face back to her. “No, darling. I don’t know a _thing_ about him.” She _smiled_. “I simply wanted to tell you in person.” 

She strode out.

Anger burst inside of her, flooding into her eyes and head and shoulders and breathe. She grabbed for Dorian’s staff—but the Iron Bull grabbed her wrist. “No,” he said, low and warning.

Eckona gritted her teeth, seething. 

“Take it easy, sis,” Varric said. “Calm down. You attack her and shit will go crazy around here. Josephine may literally die of a heart attack.”

“I think it is time that the rest of us learn what _you_ know about Solas,” Cassandra said quietly. “Had I known of your suspicion, I could have had him watched much more closely. I want to hear what you observed about him.”

Eckona took another minute to calm herself so she wouldn’t walk outside snorting like a bull. She led the others up to her chambers.

 

 

 

Her board had grown. 

Cullen walked up to it, slowly tracing a thin red piece of thread, attaching Solas to the places they had been. Black for Corypheus. Yellow for the Inquisition. (Except for Cole, who had a special green thread.) And threads for Solas and Cole both attached to the Fade.

There were dozens of these strings, connecting one thing to another and eventually, they connected to bigger tacks with bigger words and they all simmered down to the rope of red thread that all led back to Solas.

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen said quietly.

“There’s still something missing,” Eckona told them, watching them all peer and study her board. “There’s something else. But I don’t know what it could be.”

Cullen looked at her piles of books, maps, notes and research. He took a deep breath. “Lady Eckona, if you could begin?”

She nodded silently and went to the locked chest in the wet room. She took out three journals. She unwound the leather throng from the first one. 

“You don’t need to read your journal to us—“

“I’m not. Just the relevant parts to jog my memory.”

They took seats and chairs like this was the world’s grimmest slumber party and, with her notes, she began to explain the different threads. 

 

 

When it was done, Cassandra rubbed her forehead. “It is so obvious when it is all laid out.”

“Hindsight is nostalgic,” Varric said quietly. “There were all the puzzle pieces. No one put them together.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Cassandra asked again.

“I…I’m not a spy. I’m just a—a nomad elf from a little clan that no one knows. I didn’t have any particular qualifications to lead the Inquisition. I wasn’t even an apprentice to our Keeper. I was just a hunter that could be spared. I could always…be spared,” she said softly. “My magic had been sealed. I wasn’t comfortable with large two-handed weapons. Just knives, bows, daggers, a polearm when I can get one. I wasn’t the greatest at it regardless. The point is—I was sent to the conclave to observe the proceedings. But they sent me in case something went wrong, that way the Master or the Keeper’s First wouldn’t be killed.”

“You were expendable,” Bull clarified.

“Yes.”

“And so you felt you weren’t intelligent enough to really be seeing what you thought you were. So you told no one. Even when Vivienne revealed that she shared your suspicions.”

“By then, they were probably nailin,” Sera snorted, rolling her eyes. “Stupid Dalish—always fucking tits up. They just made you feel bad for being you. You just wanted more out of life than their stupid rules and snooty elf-attitude.”

“You know, you might be a better fucking thief if you paid attention to some of that elfy shit and quit trying to pretend you aren’t one.”

Sera bristled. “Says the girl who fell for the oldest fucking trick in the book! He must have seen you comin a village away. He must have been thrilled—oh look, a Dalish elf Inquisitor! She’ll be easy to manipulate.”

“At least I know what I am!” Eckona snapped. “You think the world will ever let you forget that you’re an elf? Let me tell you, it won’t. _Ever_. You could do a lot more taking advantage from _both_ sides of your heritage instead of pretending that you’re human. How was I supposed to know any different! I was raised Dalish. You were raised by humans! And you’re so hung up on how they treated you that now you hate elves _and_ humans? Solas and I had an interest in elven history and you told us to _get over it_. Why don’t _you_ get over it? What the hell does it matter to you what anyone else is interested in? But maybe the attitude is right, after all—you’re just as bad as Solas was sometimes.”

“I am _not_ like that arse!”

“Stubborn insistence that everything you say is right? Check. Other elves are not as good as you? Check. Purposely goading others so you can tear down something that was important to them—“

“Oh, like _what_!”

“Like the _Vallaslin_!” Eckona got up, slamming her journal down. “My clan’s keeper told me that at adulthood—we all select a tattoo to represent the elven gods. I could never have known they were slave markings. But when Solas told me and he—he _removed_ it for me—all you could do was _laugh_ at me! That not only did he dump me, he told me that something I thought was truth was bullshit. And you just couldn’t wait to rub it in because you’re just _that_ damn petty!”

“Say that again, Inquisitor!” Sera commanded, grabbing her bow and notching an arrow to it. Cassandra jumped up, half-drawing her sword.

Eckona walked right over, arrow pointing squarely at her chest. “You’re petty. You’re a petty, childish thief. You insult everyone around you and yet talk about how you want equality for little people. Well, guess what? Those little people don’t like cruelty from people like you anymore than they like it from nobles!”

Sera scowled, venomous. “At least _I_ wasn’t stupid enough to fall for the guy who might be a fucking _demon_.”

Eckona reached for her dagger.

“Well, you wouldn’t anyway, right? I mean, he had a distinct lack of breasts,” Dorian said suddenly.

The two elves paused. 

Iron Bull snorted into his fist.

Sera looked at the mage and then back at Eckona. “Tch….yeah. Guess you’re right.” She lowered her bow, looking away from Eckona. “Whatever.” 

She stalked out of the room.

The others looked at each other in silence. Cassandra let her sword slide back into its sheath. 

Eckona’s hand relaxed on the hilt of her dagger, still thrumming with adrenaline. She slumped down in her armchair.

“To be fair,” Cullen said, crossing his arms, still studying the board, “we should have thought to _ask_. Lady Eckona was the closest to Solas and I know she wasn’t the only one who had questions about him. We could have asked her but….” He sighed, “….we didn’t think you’d noticed anything of note either. You are a great deal more observant than we thought. So failures all around. Everyone had a part to play. It wasn’t a priority with Corypheus on the horizon. Even Leliana wasn’t looking into his story _too_ deeply.” He turned to face them. “But now we know. And now we can begin to combine our efforts to fix it.”

“So,” Dorian spoke up again, “we can write to the University in Val Royeaux or ask the enchanters here to find out who among them can teach you to control your dreams. I think I’ll join you. I wouldn’t want you to feel singled out. I never got to learn in Tevinter.”

Dorian’s easy manner and smile seemed to ease the tension in the room. 

“Come on,” said Varric. “Let’s let this soak in over some mead.”

There were nods from the others and they started down the stairs. 

Cullen lingered and soon, it was just him and the Inquisitor. He hesitated, touching the hilt of his sword and then walked over to her, sitting down in a chair beside her. “Lady Eckona…are you all right?”

She rubbed her forehead. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. To you and to Sera and to…everyone. Except Vivienne. Fuck Vivienne. I want to burn her stupid face off right now.”

“I can understand the feeling,” Cullen told her. 

“I know that this is mostly my fault. I just didn’t realize how _much_ it was my fault. If I had just gone to Leliana and _told_ her…even if my suspicions weren’t enough—Vivienne’s would have been. They respect Vivienne’s skill at the Game. She has good instincts.”

“There’s no guarantee that anything would be different. Solas was intelligent. He deceived us all from the very beginning. It might not have made any difference at all.”

“Even if we find him again,” she said softly, “…it will never be the same.”

“Likely not. When you love someone, it can make it harder to see when something is wrong. But when they betray you….”

“It’s a knife in the gut. Not even in the back. I saw it coming and I should have done something. But I didn’t. And now even if he returned, I would never be able to fully trust him again. I would always wonder.”

“Yes—but that is the past now. Now we work on fixing it. We find him and if something has happened to him—we help him. And if he can’t be helped…then we end him.”

Eckona took a deep breath and looked at Cullen. “I just don’t understand—if he knew he was going to run—why waste the time getting….getting close to me?”

Cullen shook his head. “I don’t know. Only he does, truly. I’m inclined to think that he really did love you. But whatever made him run is bigger than the feeling he had for you. During war, people get tunnel-vision. You think about survival. Your concern is in the _now_. Not the future. One way people cope with the constant threat of death that war presents is that they have very intense relationships. The intensity of the emotion is comforting. Helps people balance out the fear if they have at least one good thing to come back to.”

“But they don’t last, right? They’re intense but they’re not sustainable.”

“That’s right. For many people, who they are during war is _not_ who they are during peace. When they try to stay together without understanding that, it usually falls apart.”

She sighed and got up, pouring some wine and then offering him a glass. She gulped hers down and then picked up her pipe. “What about you?”

He accepted the glass with a nod. “I’ve been at war for so long that I don’t remember what I was like during peace. This has become who I am.”

She sat down again, lighting the pipe. “I guess that’s not so bad, then. After everything that’s happened…I’m not sure I could go back either.”

“Well, you’re in mostly mediocre company then.” He half-smiled at her.

She managed a tired smile back at him. “Thank you, Cullen.”

“You are welcome, my lady.”

“Cullen, just call me Eckona.”

Cullen hesitated and then nodded. “Thank you, Eckona.” He sat with her, taking out a roll of leather that held his pipe. He packed it with some Rivaini Dark and they smoked in companionable silence. He chewed on the stem before he said, “Eckona—would you still be willing to teach me Euchari?”

She pulled her eyes away from the fire and smiled a little. “Sure. I’ll get my deck.”


	13. Bring Oranges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Because he’s….a nug. Maybe he only has a name that other nugs can understand.”
> 
> Cole nodded absently at her answer, still staring into his nug’s face. “I will call him Nug.”
> 
> Eckona snorted on a chuckle. That was _so_ Cole. “Nug it is, Cole.” She looked down at the bundle in her arms, where the second nug remained.

Cole took off his big floppy hat, pushing his hair out of his eyes. He was staring so wide, Eckona was afraid he might be upset.

“Cole…are you all right?”

He nodded, silently staring at the tiny nug. 

She held out the little thing to him. He cupped his palms, taking it like it were made of crystal. He drew it to himself. 

“Hallo,” he whispered to it. “I don’t want to scare you but my name is Cole.”

The tiny nug chirped at him. 

Yes, it may have been difficult to accept the cage brought to her by a young man from Redcliffe but it was worth it for the expression on Cole’s face. She’d suggested it as a joke, at first, to Solas but when she thought about it, she decided to really order the nugs. They had arrived this morning, cold and scared. She wondered for a moment how Solas would have reacted to them. 

But then Cole was holding the little nug. “He doesn’t know his name.”

“The nug?” she asked him gently.

“I asked him but he doesn’t know.”

“You have to give him a name, Cole.”

“Why doesn’t he know his name?”

“Because he’s….a nug. Maybe he only has a name that other nugs can understand.”

Cole nodded absently at her answer, still staring into his nug’s face. “I will call him Nug.”

Eckona snorted on a chuckle. That was _so_ Cole. “Nug it is, Cole.” She looked down at the bundle in her arms, where the second nug remained.

“Is that one for Sera?” Cole asked, long fingers gently petting his nug.

“Yes….” She answered quietly. “I need to…talk to her.”

“She wants you to,” Cole told her. “She’s sorry. Just like you are. She was angry and she cares about you, so she hurt you. Because she is afraid.” Cole gently placed Nug inside the bowl of his hat. 

“Thank you, Cole,” she said quietly. “And I’m sorry to you too. And everyone else. If I had said something…none of this might have happened.”

Cole looked at her with his big, sad eyes. “Solas lives up to his name. It would have been no different. Now that the Sleep is over, he has to move on. He has to fix—old pain, old hurts, old mistakes, old blood. He isn’t sure he can do it but he thinks he has to.”

“He’s trying to correct an old mistake?”

“Maybe,” said Cole, looking back at Nug. “It might not be a mistake at all. It’s hard to tell. He should not have left. We could have helped him. You made everything too real. You can’t be too real, else it doesn’t work.”

Eckona sighed softly. “This is a real mess, isn’t it?”

Cole smiled faintly. “No.” He held up his hat, Nug peered out at her.

She smiled a little, reaching out to pet Nug. “You always have this way of reminding me of what’s important, Cole.”

“What are you doin up here?” Came a voice from the stairs.

Eckona looked behind her and saw Sera, crossing her arms and glaring at her. “Sera…”

“Here to be an arse? I can always hear you every time you come up here to talk to Scary Brother.”

Eckona looked down at the remaining bundle in her arms. “Sera, I bring a peace offering.”

“What’s that then?”

Eckona unwrapped some of the blanket and revealed the nug. “I ordered a couple nugs for you and Cole…”

“Mine’s name is Nug,” Cole told her.

“This is what you do? You want to make up for being a bint and stupid and you bring me a rat fish?”

“No,” Eckona said, raising a hand to her. “I just…look. I’m sorry. For everything. It was my fault. I should have told someone. I never thought things would go this way. If I’d known….I…I would have.”

“You hope.”

Eckona looked aside. “Yes. I hope I would have. If I’d known.”

Sera huffed. “See, not so hard, is it?” She stalked over and peered into the blanket. “Ugh, fine. I guess I can look after it. I’m naming it Blood Drinker though.”

“Whatever you like,” she said, allowing Sera to gingerly pick up the nug. It chirped and nuzzled her. 

“Hallo, Blood Drinker,” Sera told the nug. She looked at his soft eyes for a moment and then glanced away. “Look, Eck. You’re.” She huffed. “I’m sorry, too. I, you know—shouldn’t have been so….in your face about you and stupid Solas. I mean, if I loved someone and they betrayed me, I wouldn’t want someone rubbing my face in shit either. And I probably woulda reacted just like you.” She laughed a little. “No. It would have been way worse. Shit would definitely have been thrown.” She looked down at Blood Drinker. “Anyway—yeah. I’m sorry for giving you so much shite. And…I dunno—maybe I _should_ look into what being an elf can do for my thieving.” She glared at the two of them. “No promises though! I ain’t gonna cater to some stuck-up bint. I don’t need their definitions. I got my own.”

“That’s exactly what it should be,” Eckona told her. “If you want help, I can help you. If not—we won’t talk about it ever again.”

“Yeah, well, first things first—“

Cole suddenly stiffened. “Eyes too wide, man encroaching on her, the blade is slick and silver and glinting in the candle light. No one can hear her scream. Is the door locked? Where’s Leliana? I’m small again, helpless. All I can see is his mask. And beyond them, blackness where his eyes should be. They are glinting the darkness back like the knife. Knife that’s hurt so many others in the same—Cullen! Cullen?”

“Cole!” Eckona grabbed onto him, leaning with him to peer into his face. “What’s wrong!”

“Josephine! We have to _help_ her!”

Eckona glanced at Sera and took off, opening the ramparts door and throwing herself over the rail to get to the ground. Sera put Blood Drinker down in Cole’s corner with Nug and they followed.

The three streaked into the main hall, Eckona yelling at the nobles to get out of the way. She slid into the door leading to the War Room wing. It was locked. 

“Josephine!” Eckona called, pounding on the door. 

“How many shitting rogues does it take to open a door! Pick the lock!” Sera commanded, notching an arrow to her bow.

Eckona jumped back from the wood. She didn’t go for the picks. She threw her hand forward and _focused_. Energy swirled, chaotic and then blasted out at the door. It flew off its hinges, slamming into the second door. Cole was through it in a flash, kicking it over and Eckona ran in.

Josephine was backed against the wall, blood was streaked down the front of her dress. She’d gone pale as a ghost.

In front of her, Cullen was standing with his sword drawn. He’d been slashed a few times.

And between Cullen and Eckona, was a strange servant with a mask who was breathing heavily.

“Assassin!” Cullen warned. 

The assassin looked at Eckona, then at Cullen. He threw a fistful of powder at Cullen, then a knife. 

At the same time, Sera fired her arrow, Cole threw his own knife and Eckona blasted the assassin with a barrage of energy. His bones shattered and he smashed up against the wall like a ragdoll. 

“Commander!” Josephine cried out, trying to hold onto Cullen. “Eckona—the knife!”

“It’s poisoned,” Cole said, mournfully.

Cullen staggered, sword falling from his fingers. He foamed at the mouth, coughing and went down to his knees.

Eckona scrambled over to him, grabbing his head to look into his face. He was pale as death, eyes bulging, lips rimmed in red, wheezing of wet, gurgling breathes. "Cullen!"

Cole curled in on himself. "I'm--everything hurts. Everything is _burning_. Can't breath. Every breath--I can't breath. I _can't breathe_. I'm dying. I'm dying. I'm _dying_. Help. Please. Help me."

“Cole! Sera! Get Dorian and Iron Bull! Now!”

Sera bolted for the library. Cole vanished to the yard.

Eckona grabbed Cullen, gently easing him to sit. “Cullen? Stay with us, all right? How can I give you a commendation if you die?” She started pulling off his armor. “What happened, Josephine?”

“I—I should have—it was an assassin from the House of Repose, dressed as a servant. He was here for me.”

“For you? Why?” Eckona asked, tossing Cullen’s mantle aside and finding the knife jammed inbetween two plates. She ripped it out, examining for any traces left on the blade that might tell her the type.

Cullen cried out, eyes glossing over, choking as he tried to open his throat. Eckona grabbed her cloak, wrapping it around her fingers and jamming it into his mouth so he wouldn’t bite off his own tongue. 

“There is a contract on my life with the House of Repose, taken out over a hundred years ago from a rival family in Orlais. I have been attempting to annul this contract but in the meantime—they are obligated to fulfill it.”

Eckona cringed as Cullen’s teeth clamped down on her fingers, blood bubbling up from his nose. “Cullen! Don’t you dare fucking die, Cullen! You asshole!”

Sera appeared, Cassandra and Dorian in tow.

“Maker—“ Cassandra grunted, going to the assassin to search him.

Dorian threw himself to his knees beside Cullen as the Bull and Cole came rushing back in. He cast, stopping the spread, at least. “What kind is it?” Dorian demanded. “I can halt the spread until we can neutralize it.”

“A strangler, I think. Red Syrup, maybe? If it were Nightshade's Lace, he'd be bleeding from his ears too.” Eckona told the mage. 

Cassandra emptied the assassin’s pockets. “This looks like something.” She tossed a small vial over to Bull, who snatched it from the air. 

The giant man opened the vial, smelled it and dipped the tip of his finger around the rim, giving it a lick. He made a face. “Blisterchoke. Burns the throat from the inside out.” He looked at Cole. “Kid?"

"Yes. I don't want him to die." Cole vanished.

Cullen writhed on the floor, body seizing in place as Dorian held back the poison. 

“Cullen!” Eckona leaned over him, touching his forehead with her other hand. “Cullen! Look at me!”

His eyes rolled to her face. He tried to open his mouth to speak, but blood bubbled out over her fingers and hand. His mouth clamped down again and she felt her middle finger snap.

“Keep him steady,” Bull commanded as Cole returned, presenting a small vial of deep purple liquid. “Good work, kid. Now get back.”

Bull approached. Dorian kept his hands on Cullen’s chest, sweating now and screwing his eyes shut to concentrate. Bull knelt next to Eckona and reached over and around her. “Don’t move,” he said to her. “Don’t want him to bite off his own tongue. Or your fingers.” He clamped Cullen’s nose and dumped the liquid in next to her fingers.

The warrior cried out, eyes on fire. Bull put his huge palm over Cullen’s mouth and Eckona’s hand to keep the antidote in.

Cullen gurgled, eyes streaming and then he took a great gasping breath.

Bull pulled her fingers from his mouth and grabbed Cullen, sitting the man up against his shoulder. Cullen threw up, sickly green and yellow and blood. Sera backed away to the wall. Bull was splattered with it but he didn’t move an inch. Eckona ignored it as well. She sat on her knees, touching her commander’s shoulder and watching his eyes.

His body finally relaxed, covered in blood and vomit, Cullen sank against Bull. His eyes closed.

“Cullen!” Eckona demanded, ducking down to look into his face. “Cullen? Can you hear me?”

“He’s all right now,” Bull said, voice low and calm. “He needs to rest.”

Eckona looked at Dorian and the mage nodded, slumping back against the wall. “The poison is purged.”

“I am so sorry,” Josephine choked out. “He protected me when the assassin came for me. I did not want it to interfere with the Inquisition, My Lady.”

“Tell Cassandra everything. We’ll take care of these goddamn assassins if I have to go to Val Royeaux and clean that fucking House myself,” Eckona growled. “ _Nobody_ threatens my ambassador. _Nobody_ gets into _my_ goddamn keep and tries to kill my commander. I’ll rip every one of their fucking heads off.”

“Wow. Okay, boss, we got it. Be prepared to kill some assassins every body.” Bull got up, chuckling as he lifted Cullen onto his shoulder.

“Cassandra, stay with Josephine. Cole, you as well. Sera, stay at the door. No one comes in or goes out. Varric, Dorian, get Rainier—er, Blackwall or whatever the hell he wants to be called—I want all the staff up. We do a full sweep of the keep.” 

They scattered.

Eckona got up, walking with Iron Bull as he carried Cullen back to the War Room. The Qunari spy searched it after laying Cullen down on the table. Eckona went to the commander, checking his eyes again. She pulled off her cloak, bundling it to put under his blond head. She used a corner to wipe off his face. 

“He won’t be able to talk very well for a few days. Blisterchoke burns from the inside. It’s a strangler. Luckily, Cole is pretty handy when it comes to killing people. Knows his herbs. And I thought it might be better to get him out of the room. His death-talks freak Sera out.”

“Thank you, Bull,” Eckona breathed, sinking into a chair and putting her forehead in her hands. “He’d be dead if not for you. Thank you.”

“Doing my part, boss. Besides. I like the guy. I’m gonna go help search the keep.” 

“Thank you,” she said again, still trying to get her breath back. 

 

 

They turned the keep inside out but no other assassins appeared to remain. Or at least, the servants and staff and everyone could be vouched and accounted for. 

Eckona didn’t leave the war room. She stayed to protect him. He’d done so much for them. It wouldn’t be fair for him to die like this. It wouldn’t be right. He was a good man. He….

He dreamed so intensely. She didn’t know that until now. Until she found herself standing in the middle of a town she didn’t know.

_They caged us like animals! Looking for a way to break us! I’m all that’s left!_

She peered around. “Cullen?” 

He started badly, his eyes wild with madness. “You don’t understand! You might be a mage but you haven’t been up there! They’ve been surrounded by blood mages who—whose wicked fingers snake into your mind and corrupt your thoughts!”

“Cullen…” She approached him slowly. He seemed to be trapped in some kind of….barrier.

“It was stupid,” he said. “It was—infatuation. I couldn’t…I tried to….” He shook his head, sinking down against the floor.

“Where are we? Kirkwall?” She murmured. “Cullen—listen to me. Cullen!”

He shook hard, forehead beaded with sweat and then he looked at her. He finally seemed to really _see_ her. “Inquisitor? What are you doing here? How did you get here? I haven’t….met you yet. You have to get out of here. It’s too dangerous. They’ll kill you.”

_Haven’t met him yet?_

“What do you mean? I have to get you out of there, Cullen.”

“No, you can’t. Don’t worry about me—go after Uldred. They’re in the Harrowing chamber. You must kill everyone up there! Else the Abominations could still get out! They will _slaughter_ you, like they did all the others!”

“What are you _talking_ about, Cullen? Just hang on!”

Cullen listed inside the barrier and then he coughed. And then his mouth and eyes and nose filled with blood and he was spitting and choking.

“Cullen!” She slammed her fist into the barrier. “Cullen!”

His throat burst, shredding apart—

 

Eckona jerked, elbow smacking a bottle of ink and sending it flying across the room. She lifted her eyes off her forearm. _A dream….?_

She stood up. The windows had a faint tint of pink and orange. The sun was rising, streaming through the stained glass and casting beams over Cullen’s pale, drawn face. But his amber eyes were open.

“Cullen! Are you all right?”

He breathed faintly, nodded a little. He reached up. She grabbed his hand and put the other under his shoulder to help him sit up. 

“J-Josephine?” he asked faintly.

She nodded. “She’s all right. You saved her, Cullen. Thank you.”

“What happened?” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

“The assassin hit you with a poisoned knife. Luckily, Bull knew what the poison was and got an antidote in time. Dorian stopped the poison from spreading. I ordered the castle searched top to bottom.”

“How did you….how did you know?”

She kept her hand on his shoulder to keep him steady. “It was Cole—he felt it, I guess. He felt Josephine’s fear. I was with him, with Sera—and he suddenly told us in that sort of creepy way he does. And so I ran here. The door was locked, so I broke it down.”

“I remember that…” he said, as if to convince himself. “When you entered, the assassin panicked and threw something at me. That’s all I remember.”

“It’s all right. Keep was searched top to bottom. We found no other assassins. I will go to Val Royeaux to deal with this House of Repose myself. Thank you, Cullen. You saved Josephine.”

“I….I only—“

“Just rest, Cullen. We’ll keep you safe.”

“I should help—“

“No.” She put a hand on his chest. “Lie down, Cullen. You have to rest.” 

With her urging, he laid back on the table. 

“You’re going to have good dreams,” she told him. 

He dropped off again.

 

 

Dorian entered the War Room. He’d brought some fresh towels and a bowl of water. The Inquisitor was passed out again, dead asleep on her arms as she somehow stayed upright in her chair. Cullen was still lying on the huge table, shirt open, boots discarded. His trousers were stained with dried blood and sick. The mage walked up, observing the Inquisitor. She’d cleaned Cullen up the best she could without undressing him (because, you know, awkward) and she’d stayed with him for the last two days and nights. 

Behind him, two other mages entered. A Knight Enchanter and a Rift mage. There was another Necromancer but Dorian had left him in the main hall. No need for two of the same, right? The two additional mages came forward to examine Cullen.

They likely hadn’t intended to wake the Inquisitor—but she was sleeping on eggshells. It seemed the first hint of disturbed air, she was awake in a flash. Her fingers grabbed into her dagger and she slashed up and out.

Luckily, the two mages were quick—jumping back. 

“Eckona—it’s us!” Dorian grabbed her arm and shook her a little. “Mind the knife when you wake up like that. Or at least have the decency to just use your fist.”

Eckona took a second to get her bearings and then remember where she was. “Who are they?”

“Lady Josephine sent for professionals to help you train as a ranger. I sent for mages to help you learn to Dream—and because there’s no one else in the world who’s likely studied Rift magic—except for Solas. This one is a Rift Mage, don’t mind her name--"

"I am Your Trainer."

Eckona did a double-take at her. "Wh-huh?"

"This one is a Knight Enchanter. And they brought another necromancer too. As if you need more than me. The Knight Enchanter can teach you how to use healing magic.”

“You did not mention learning to Dream,” said the Enchanter.

“As much as we’re paying you, I ought to be able to mention your mother’s favorite stew recipe and still have you be willing to teach it to us.”

The Knight Enchanter couldn’t argue with that. 

“Can they help Cullen?”

Dorian laughed. “Yes—they can check Cullen. Don’t worry. Iron Bull knew the antidote. He’s going to be fine. He’s a strapping young Templar.” He gestured for her to stand. “Now, come on. I should look at your hand.”

She looked down at her hand. “Oh—it’s nothing.”

“I think he broke at least one of your fingers and mangled the other. Let me see to it while these two check him over. They won’t hurt him. You won’t have to scalp anyone, I promise.”

Eckona cast a nervous glance at Cullen and then nodded, stepping back from him. Dorian urged her to sit down. He laid her left hand on the table and looked at her broken middle finger. “You’re lucky he didn’t bite the whole thing off.” He gently touched the finger, feeling where the bone had splintered. “I know you’re scared of losing anyone else,” he said, almost in a whisper, so only she could hear. “He’ll be all right.”

Dorian carefully bound her fingers and laid healing magic over it. It was hot and tingling, feeling her bone pop and straighten into place. She grit her teeth through it. “Thank you, Dorian.”

“Yes—now, you should go sleep. Bull and I are going to get him cleaned up. He might be abashed if he is coherent enough to realize the Inquisitor is watching.”

Eckona huffed at him. “Geez—I’m not—it’s just—“

Dorian tittered. “I’m only teasing. But really—we’re going to give him a bath.”

“All right…”

The Knight Enchanter was casting some spells on Cullen to fortify his body and then, when the Iron Bull arrived (with Cole trailing absently after), the three women left. 

Someone brought the Inquisitor tea in the main hall as she sat down heavily with the two trainers. The third, the Necromancer, appeared out of thin air to sit next to them. 

 

Cullen awoke again, feeling lucid and real for the first time in several days. He sat up. Someone had put him in the war room on a cot. It was thick with quilts and pillows, a veritable nest in the corner of the War Room. Beside the cot was a night table with water and some potions. Eckona’s dagger was under his pillow. The corner was thick with the smell of herbs and spice. 

His clothes had been changed. He was only in trousers and socks and he lifted his hands to touch his chest. Yes, that was real. His skin was real. It was still attached. He pulled the quilts back, setting his feet on the stone floor. He drug his hand down his face. How long had he been down? He remembered the Inquisitor and Cole and Sera. He remembered the Bull doing something. And Dorian. But…it was all a jumble. 

He’d had strange dreams too. Peaceful dreams, which were as unusual for him as nightmares were to others. Maybe it was the potions they’d given him?

Cullen pulled on a linen shirt and then his boots, one after the other. He didn’t try getting his armor on. It was so heavy, still. He rubbed his fingers through his hair, grimacing at the feel of it and then wandered out of the War Room. 

He ran into Josephine first, who fussed over him and apologized about fifteen times before he finally got her to stop. He asked what was being done about the assassins and apparently, Josephine’s rivals were on their way to a minor lordship and Eckona had somehow managed to keep herself from murdering anyone in Val Royeaux--though her wrath had apparently been fun to watch.

Currently, the keep was quiet. Most but the guards were in bed. Cullen left Josephine to her desk and went out into the main hall. It was deserted. He ate a little bit and then wandered outside. It was nearly balmy out. It made his skin feel wonderful after being flushed with fever and sickness for so many days. According to Josephine, it’d been nearly two weeks. He scraped passed death with barely a hair to spare, thanks to Cole, Dorian and the Bull. 

Guards on the walls perked, greeting him as he passed, thanking the Maker or whoever that their commander was up and around again. His office was clean and dark, all the reports from the last two weeks were in a neat stack in the corner. Further down the walls in another guard tower—the one that was half-destroyed—he saw a light.

Cullen wasn’t quite tired yet and so he slowly made his way to the next tower. He slipped through the door and saw Dorian, the Inquisitor and three mages he didn’t know. Dorian was facing him, as were two of the mages. Eckona and the third mage had their backs to him.

One of them rapped Eckona on the knuckles with a measuring stick. “Do not let your mind wander, Inquisitor! You must _focus_. You cannot trail off while attempting to enter the Dream. Stop worrying.”

Eckona took a deep breath. “How do I take control of my dreams? I’m—not conscious.”

“That is why you must focus. You must learn to recognize signals in your mind, things that will automatically indicate to you that you are dreaming. This will enable you to start becoming aware of when you are dreaming. That is the first step. But you must quiet your thoughts. Your mind is chaotic and jumbled. You can’t control anything with your mind so cluttered. Clear it.”

Dorian suddenly opened his eyes and looked over Eckona’s head, meeting Cullen’s eyes dead on. The Tevinter noble half-smiled and nodded to him.

Cullen nodded back and then silently stepped away to let them work. 

 

It would be a few days more before Cullen felt normal again and one other before he realized that Eckona had taken all his paperwork and reports and gone through them herself so he wouldn’t have to. He found her at her desk in her quarters, clearing away all other materials and stacking his.

“Cullen!” She said, surprised. She stood up. “You look so much better today.”

“I was wondering where all my work went. Sorry to come up here without asking.”

“Come on. I can tell you what’s been going on.”

He walked over to her giant map. It had been turned around. The one with all the threads was now facing the wall. The side facing him had another map on it. She had marked several operations and notes on it with wax pencils. “I didn’t want to start taking command of combat operations. That’s not my area of expertise. So I’ve had teams doing construction projects. Bridges have gone up in the Exalted Plains and at the Tower of Bone in Emprise du Lion. We had minor trouble with some mages in Fereldan. And I _did_ send out a collection of Wardens and our Templars to weed them out. We brought three back—Dorian says they’re Venatori. I left them to your interrogators. Um, here in the Crestwood, they had serious undead problems. I went there myself a couple months back but I sent two squads to go do a sweep and make sure the villages are still secure. I conferred with Iron Bull and Cassandra before making some of the calls on this. I felt that they were my best sources of guidance on how to deal with some of these problems. I also--”

Cullen reached out and touched her hand. 

She looked up at him.

Cullen gently pulled her to him and embraced her. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “You have been an excellent friend to me.”

Eckona tensed a little, nose pressed up against his mantle and the soft dark fur that made it look like a lion’s mane. “Cullen…” she managed quietly.

“I just need you to know that I am your friend too. I know how you’ve felt since Solas left. I want you to know that if you need someone to talk with—I’m here.” He let her go, not meeting her eyes. “I just—needed to get that out. In case I die before telling you. I should have told you sooner. We’ve all suffered but you most of all. I’m your adviser, yes—but I’m also your friend.”

She looked up at him. “…thank you, Cullen.”

He nodded a little, touching her arm and then backing away a step. He took a quick breath and looked back at the board. “You’ve done good work. You’ve learned so much since you started with us. You didn’t know anything about how to manage troop movements or projects when we began. Ha, it was like watching a drunk try to paint.”

Eckona laughed.

“But you’ve come very far. You handled my work for a month. Soon you won’t need me anymore.”

“Don’t say that,” Eckona replied. “I still need you around, Cull. You don’t get a free pass out of here just yet.”

“Good,” he said, smiling at her.

She looked at the board, rubbing the back of her neck. “Ha, so. Uh. Wine?”

“Yes,” he answered swiftly.

 

 

It would be almost a full year before Eckona could take complete control of a dream. The Mark helped her dream with incredible focus—but the problem was making her become aware of it on her own. Nearly everyone had visits from her in their dreams while she practiced—but usually, it was unintentional. 

And when she finally _did_ become aware and take complete control of a Dream—perhaps she tried to do too much. Being so excited at the prospect of finally succeeding, she immediately wandered, sliding into the Fade like it was nothing. But as soon as she began to explore—her Mark burst. It felt like her skin was peeling off. It flared and burned, dragging her to her knees. It was like being in the Fade set off something in the Mark. Or like it was being activated by something or someone. Dorian entered the Dream to find her, pulling her out.

It enraged her that the Mark was suddenly holding her back. It hadn’t done that when she’d entered physically. Why was it causing her such terrible pain in the Fade now?

But she had no answers. Dorian went in alone but he could find nothing.

“It’s almost like it knows when I enter and doesn’t want me there,” Eckona scowled, staring at the Mark. 

“Could it be Solas?” Dorian mused. “Maybe he knows. If he knew the Orb and wanted it, there’s a chance he knows more about the Anchor than he told us. Maybe he can sense it when you enter the Fade and knows that you’re looking for him.” 

Eckona sighed. “That would figure.”

She still cared for Solas. Deep down, she probably always would. But the bite had eased. After over a year, she could speak about him without getting _too_ angry or _too_ sad. So long as discussing him didn’t delve too deeply into who he was behind closed doors—though she had told them some things because many of their group didn’t understand him. Hell, clearly _she_ didn’t even understand him—but she might know more than most.

The intensity is what seemed to interest most of them. 

Of course, some days and some nights were still hard. She would go to the balcony and fold her arms and wonder where he was. If he thought of her. If it bothered him how things had worked out. If he missed her. Maybe he didn’t. It’d be easier if he didn’t. 

But now that it had become apparent that something went wrong when she tried to explore the Fade…she felt the whole investigation come to a stand-still. Back to square one. 

She wandered outside to think and ended up sitting with Cullen on the battlements. They took tea together sometimes, always circling each other, never quite _certain_ about each other. Joking around made it easier, insisting he help her teach Cole how to swim made it easier. Coming to him quietly and asking if he’d teach her how to dance made it easier…..and more difficult. 

Neither of them were ready to let go of the past in some ways but both could admit that it was nice to have company sometimes—without the burden of expectation. 

And so, more often than not, when others were working or sleeping or otherwise occupied and the two of them couldn’t sleep or found themselves restlessly wandering the keep—they would often seem to find each other. Sometimes in the library or the kitchens or the war room. He would pull out a chair for her and she'd shake her head and laugh. They'd discuss everyone else, exchanging all the recent gossip (which was surprisingly plentiful) and how Bull's messages when he was out and about with her were getting more extravagant and varied. She tried to tell him off for exaggerating but the Bull seemed to enjoy the discomfort it caused her and how forward Cullen had become about acting on it. 

It was pretty obvious to Iron Bull what was going on with Cullen—even if no one else would say anything.

 

It had been just over a year since Cullen’s brush with the poison. And nearly two years since Solas had disappeared and Corypheus defeated.

That was when Josephine received the letter from Leliana, as Divine Victoria.

An Exalted Council in Val Royeaux.

At the bottom, under her name, she’d written: _Bring oranges._


	14. Fresco

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One Night Stand -> Cullen/Lavellan  
> \------------  
> Also, Iron Bull and Cole party banter follow-up about Candy: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4BeAq6Mj19w  
> \------------
> 
> “Mum-quisitor, daddy Bull, do stop fighting,” Dorian implored.
> 
> “Shut up, Dorian!”
> 
> “Yeah, go to your room,” Bull tacked on.

She stared at the paintings on the wall. The circular room branched in three other directions, one to the library, one to Cullen’s chambers and one to the main hall. Solas had lingered in this room for days after he led them to Skyhold. She’d gone on a mission into the Fallow Mire and come back to four incredible paintings. 

“Solas…” she breathed, staring at them. “These are extraordinary.” 

He smiled a little. “These are your deeds.”

She shook her head. “Not what I was referring to. These are frescos—in elven style. They’re amazing. Where did you learn this?”

“The Fade, naturally,” he told her.

“Did you spend a few years there studying elven fresco?”

He smiled. 

The first appeared to be the creation of the Breach. “Too many eyes,” she murmured to herself, looking up at it. _Too many eyes_ \--oh yes, Adan had said she’d murmured that, hadn’t he? And _The Grey_ , whatever that was. It didn’t appear to be represented in the first painting. 

The second appeared to be the formation of the Inquisition. The wreathed eye and sword and…wolves. She felt Solas watching the back of her neck. “Why wolves?” She asked.

“Fen’Harel’s beast was the wolf. It is said he was a trickster but, his other name was the god of rebellion. I thought it appropriate, given the circumstances which created the Inquisition. Rebelling against the Chantry and fate.”

“Fate?” She asked, turning to look at him.

He walked up to her, gently lighting his hand on her back. “Don’t you think? Against a massive tear in the sky, letting demons through the Veil? Seems our fate would look quite grim. But, you did not accept that.”

“Well—Cassandra and Leliana mostly didn’t accept that,” she told him, chuckling.

“True. But you could have run.”

She looked down. “No….I couldn’t have…”

“Exactly,” he told her, smiling.

She glanced sidelong at him and smiled a little.

The third appeared to be gathering the rebel mages at Redcliffe and the terrible future that she saw there. And the fourth….the destruction of Haven and the emergence of Corypheus. She studied it. “That golden circle—are those hands in it or crows?”

Solas glanced up at it. “What do you think it is?”

She looked at it for a long moment. “I’m….not sure.”

“Perhaps one day, you will be.” 

She huffed. “Stop pretending to be so mysterious.”

He laughed. 

When the fifth emerged, she stopped in the rotunda again. It was clearly the Winter Palace—Empress Celene loomed large as a chess piece but….as a pawn. Everything else was black and white—as if politics could be so straight forward. Maybe it was a joke on Solas’ part. That would be like him. So high-brow.

The final three—she wished she would have seen coming. She should have. She should have been paying attention. Though they didn't make much more sense now than they had at the time. Adamant and the Grey Wardens, the Fade and….perhaps the Black City? And then…Mythal’s temple and the Eluvian, perhaps? She studied the black and gold one intently but couldn’t be completely certain of its meaning. 

And then the last….a wolf again? A sword. A great big foot? 

She found notes that Leliana had had one of the Archivists take on the style up in the rookery. It confirmed her own impression later on—this was extremely advanced elven fresco painting. 

Wait, maybe not a wolf in the last one. Perhaps, the dragon? But….

She had wandered this rotunda many times. She had studied it and thought about it and tried to see some connection but…there was nothing. Nothing definitive. Everyone had an interpretation—some were similar, some were not. She’d guessed the figures in the seventh to be Abelas and the elven Sentinels. Vivienne wondered if they were the spirits encountered in the Well of Sorrows. Varric thought perhaps one was her and the other was Samson because of the darkness and gold above the left one’s head that matched the darkness and gold above Corypheus’ head in the fourth fresco. Sera scoffed at the whole thing but was inclined to agree more with Varric. The one on the left was Samson but the one of the right was Abelas, she said. There were similar differences in thought on the central white pillar. Was that the temple of Mythal itself? Was it the Eluvian? Or was it the Well of Sorrows?

Of course, Solas left no notes and told no one his intent other than that they were _her deeds_ which wasn’t overly descriptive. 

 

 

She sighed, taking one last look around the rotunda. Well, last for probably the next month or so. It would be a journey to Val Royeaux and then who knew how long the talks would take. Josephine had insisted on her having new formal wear made. The red was too much like the Winter Palace (and _so_ last season, Josephine informed her). This time it was a black waistcoat, buttoned trimly to the hips and then flaring out down to her calves. It was lined with dragonbone and would serve as her formal armor. The back was embroidered with the Inquisition insignia in silver. Her boots were black leather, also lined in dragonbone and enchanted against cold and heat. Having so much dragonbone on hand was certainly a rarity. She couldn’t believe that much of it had been left over from the Frostback in the southern Hinterlands. (In fact, there had not. Cullen had procured the necessary dragonbone from a contact in the Free Marches—though no one had told her that.)

Her gauntlets were also new in shining, waxed dark leather. Each reached halfway up her forearm. At the elbow, was a mean hook made of silverite, intended to catch blades. 

She went out into the main hall, sitting down and working at the ties. They went from the wrist up to her elbow. She was working on tying them alone but eventually, someone took pity on her and came to help. This time, it was Varric. 

“Help you lace up, Inquisitor?” He asked, sitting on a chair beside her and gesturing for her to hold out her arm.

She did, placing it inside up on the table. “Thank you, Varric.”

“Meh, gotta remind myself why I joined up sometimes.”

She chuckled. “To tie laces?”

“Among other things.” Varric reached up and waved down Sera, who happily came to join them. 

It was as if Varric had summoned him, for Dorian joined them just moments later. “I saw you downstairs, studying those paintings again,” the mage told her dryly. “I bet you can’t wait to see Leliana.”

Eckona rolled her eyes. “Oh, shut up.”

“You shouldn’t get your hopes up, Snow,” Varric told her. There was a smile in his voice but it didn’t touch his eyes. “Leliana is good but even _she_ is having trouble tracking him down.”

“I know that.”

“Ugh, are we _still_ on about stupid Solas?” Sera grouched.

“No!” Eckona burst out. “I just—it’s a concern to everyone where he disappeared to.”

Dorian reached forward to take her other arm to tie the laces. “Not Iron Bull—though, to his credit, he seems more interested in Cole.”

“What?” Eckona asked him.

“Not like _that_. Good god—no. Just looking out for him. Like you. But in a different way.”

Varric released her left arm and she used it to pick up her pipe while Dorian finished with the right arm. “Well, that’s one way of putting it,” Varric told them.

Eckona blinked. “What do you mean?”

Looks were exchanged around the table.

Eckona eyed them suspiciously as Dorian offered her his stash of Royal Tevinter Honey blend. “ _What_?”

Sera giggled.

Eckona looked around the main hall, packing her pipe with the tobacco. “Where _is_ Cole, anyway?”

More looks were exchanged.

“What!” she demanded, starting to get annoyed.

“Er. Well,” Dorian said, rather delicately. “Cole is currently. Occupied.”

Eckona raised her pipe at Dorian. “And?”

“And Iron Bull made an arrangement for him to be….occupied,” Varric said, looking everywhere but at her.

Eckona’s eyebrows lifted. “Meaning _what_?”

Sera couldn’t take it anymore. She burst out laughing. “Bull set him up with a very nice lady named _Candy_.”

Eckona’s pipe clattered to the tabletop. “He _WHAT_?!”

“Now, Eckona—“

“He can’t just _do_ that! Cole doesn’t know what a prostitute is—where is this even happening—what the hell! You guys _knew_ and you _let_ him?!”

“What were _we_ supposed to do!” Varric exclaimed.

“He’s a spy—we thought he might know best,” Dorian told her.

“You _guys_!” Eckona cried out, distressed. She jumped up. “I have to—BULL! Where is he?!” She ran out the doors.

Sera picked up her pipe and lit it to smoke. “Totally worth it.”

The other two burst out laughing.

 

 

The trip to Val Royeaux was uneventful. Though Iron Bull was determined to find a more… _focused_ lady for Cole in the capital. As apparently, the one in Skyhold had been turned from her original purpose when Cole helped her instead of letting her…. _help_ him.

Eckona made her opinion of this known. Quite loudly. The others were struggling not to cry with laughter while she did so. Even Iron Bull, who took the brunt of her reprimands, seemed to be having trouble keeping a straight face. 

“Mum-quisitor, daddy Bull, do stop fighting,” Dorian implored.

“Shut up, Dorian!”

“Yeah, go to your room,” Bull tacked on.

Sera nearly fell off her horse. “He means go to _his_ room.”

Dorian startled. 

Iron Bull just grinned. “That would work too—but none of that ‘daddy’ stuff. That’s just weird.”

“I don’t—I mean, I—I wouldn’t,” Dorian straightened his gloves and absently smoothed his hair.

Bull looked sidelong at him. “Oh really?”

“Bull! Stop trying to distract everyone!” Eckona commanded. 

“You do not have to worry, Eckona,” Cole spoke up, riding quietly next to Varric. “Candy was really nice. I helped her. She seemed very sad but Bull paid her to let me help her. She was happy afterwards. Her name is Marguerite.”

Eckona looked mortified.

Bull shrugged at the Inquisitor. “So, see—didn’t really go the way I thought it would.”

“Don’t you dare get him a prostitute in Val Royeaux.”

“Yeah, in the capital they might know what they’re doing,” Bull huffed. “You pay for a service, you should get it.”

“Bull!”

“She knew what she was paid to do,” Cole told them all helpfully. “But I didn’t really understand why she needed to do it to me. She didn’t really want to take my clothes off. She was too sad.”

Sera was cackling on her horse, laying over the saddle. It got worse when the hiccups hit her.

Cassandra was staring at Cole as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. Cullen was desperately trying not to laugh, staring at the reigns of his horse and clamping his lips tightly closed. He kept shaking his head every time Cole spoke.

 

 

 

Entering Val Royeaux was like a parade. Her advisers had been dressed in black and gold to complement the Inquisitor’s colors. Everyone else was offered new formal wear but they opted for their armor (except Dorian, who appreciated well-made clothes and Sera, who gladly took a new outfit and then immediately sold it for several times its worth). 

Here, the fate of the Inquisition would be decided. 

Eckona found herself less distraught by that than she might have two years ago. Two years ago, the Inquisition was all she had. That hadn’t really changed but her perspective certainly had. She hated the politics. She hated the corruption. She hated being a figurehead for others to posture behind. She wanted to help people, yes—but…but the bigger the Inquisition got…the more precarious it seemed. Maybe she’d join up with Bull’s Chargers? Maybe she’d go see Tevinter with Dorian? Maybe become a Red Jenny or maybe she could find a way to explore the Fade with Cole. Or maybe she could…look for Solas. It still ate at her. Her mark still blazed and burned when she tried to enter the Fade through Dreaming. And once Cullen found out about her using Lyrium with Dorian….well. That had ended swiftly. Turned out, Cullen being distraught and horrified at her use of Lyrium was enough to make her step back from it. She knew how much he was struggling with the Lyrium withdraws and every time he looked at her with his haggard, red-rimmed eyes, she felt guilty. He had offered to oversee her use of Lyrium himself because he certainly didn’t have the power to _keep_ her from entering the Fade with it but that had almost been worse. His willingness to help her, despite how it would tear him apart—the temptation alone would drive him mad. She couldn’t do that to Cullen.

The vision of the woman and the orb still bothered her but for now, she set it aside. 

Eckona glanced sidelong at Cullen. He was _here_. Her friends were _here_. Solas was not. Whatever he was up to—if it was truly terrible, well—she supposed she’d find out eventually. It was like a splinter in her mind but she covered it for now. Yes, she could still feel it but there were other resources she could use to look for him. Surely it wasn’t worth tearing apart others for Solas being an ass.

As if it knew she was thinking about it, her Mark twinged. She looked down at her gauntlet, slowly curling her fingers in and out. It flared briefly. She grit her teeth as it burned. 

“Something wrong?” Cullen asked her.

She looked at him. “Oh—it’s—just the Mark. It’s acting up a little lately.”

“That’s…odd, isn’t it?” Cullen asked her, maneuvering his horse to ride side by side with her.

“Yes—a bit. It’s been quiet for a long time—unless I close a rift.”

Cullen peered at her arm. “Tell me if anything changes.”

“I’ll be fine, Cullen.”

“Tell me anyway.”

She smiled at him, gently. 

He looked down and then back up at her. “Inquisitor, I—“

And then they were dismounting and Leliana, as Divine, was gliding across the shining marble to greet them. Eckona immediately pulled her satchel down and showed her the Rivaini blood oranges, which made the Divine smile.

All of them were escorted to the Manor of Bold Horse, a veritable compound put aside for their use during their stay in the capital. Most of the group scattered to go sightsee or get a drink. Except Cullen, who appeared at her door, awkwardly fiddling with his gloves.

“Cullen? Are you all right?”

“Yes, Inquisitor—“

“We’re not outside anymore. You don’t have to call me that in here.”

Cullen smiled a little. “Ah, yes, Eckona. I wanted to look at your hand.”

“Oh, er—oh. Well. Yes, come in.” She stepped aside so he could enter and closed the door behind him. “Here, let me get you some tea and I’ll get the gauntlet off.”

“I can get it,” Cullen told her.

“Oh, all right.” She pointed by the fireplace. “Tea is still hot. Cups, cream, sugar. You like maple syrup in your tea, don’t you? I can have some brought up.”

“Not what I meant,” Cullen followed her and gently took her arm, bringing it to himself to untie the laces.

“O-oh,” she managed, watching him. 

He’d worked his gloves off, pocketing them and his fingers were nimble over the laces. Not for the first time, she noticed. In one palm, he held her arm, while the other hand skimmed over the leather. She got a strange feeling in her chest, like something was bubbling to the surface. Something hot and solid and she swallowed hard and tried to focus on the gauntlet. At Skyhold, it was easier to ignore this. He was attractive, yes. She’d have to be made of stone not to notice. And she wasn’t blind—she saw sometimes how he looked at her. They got along well. They told silly jokes and practiced swordfighting and discussed magic and history and what Dorian probably did in his down time (his hair). He wasn’t as serious as Solas but he was just as driven. They’d sat together often, usually for company, sometimes when one or the other was feeling down and out. She’d seen him at his worst without the Lyrium. He hadn’t judged her when she’d shed a tear or two in front of him after Solas left them. There had been talk, naturally and they’d been careful about feeding that fire. She was discussed like a dish at a party. Nobles and commoners alike whispered over who might have partaken. For some reason, among Humans, Dorian was a common assumption (which the two of them found uproariously funny). Elves seemed to hope she and Solas would stay together—though that had died down since he’d left. She received letters from all corners of Thedas since then from Dalish clans either offering to take her in, make her their Keeper or for her to marry their Keepers. City elves sent letters sometimes too. She tried to answer them when she could. And when she could, she leaned on local nobles to treat the elves better. 

Cassandra often got pinned as her bodyguard and clandestine lover. Or she was having an affair with Leliana _and_ Josephine. There were many variations and combinations. Long story short, after the mess with Solas, Eckona had avoided emotional entanglements. So people invented their own. It was mostly harmless and she ignored it.

But this...this was different. 

His fingers were rough and thick but he was still gentle when he finally completely unlaced the gauntlet and peeled it from her arm. She didn’t pull away when his fingers skimmed over her skin. He turned her hand over, palm up and seemed absorbed in letting his fingers touch the Anchor. 

“Does it hurt at all?” He asked.

“No. It’s fine right now.”

His thumb brushed over the arm of the mark. The rest of his hand cupped her knuckles, a phantom touch that she could feel up to her wrist. For a moment, the two of them stood in silence, looking at her mark.

“Cullen—“

He stepped into her, other hand going to her cheek. It slid around to cup the back of her neck and he tilted her jaw, letting their mouths brush—

There was a knock on the door.

She _felt_ Cullen tense up, something aggressive and pent-up and fiery. His eyes narrowed at the door, turning around like a bear. She slipped around him to answer it.

Dorian was standing there. “Eckona, we were wondering if you were hungry—“

“Do you _need_ something?” Cullen interrupted flatly.

Dorian blinked at him, standing behind the Inquisitor looking stormy. He looked at Eckona, noticing how she suddenly seemed interested in looking everywhere but _at_ the Tevinter. He looked back at Cullen, whose hackles were raised and looked like he wanted to either tear the door off and beat him with it or kill a hundred men bare-handed.

Dorian couldn’t help but grin. “I appear to have been mistaken. Perhaps we’ll have dinner instead?” He reached inside the room, grabbed the knob and closed the door. He burst out laughing as he hurried away to go tell Varric and Sera.

Eckona swallowed hard. She turned away from the closed door to face the commander. “Cullen, I—“

He grabbed her, pushing her up against the door and kissed her. It was rather embarrassing, the sound she heard herself make. There was a flicker, as there always was when she had a thought or dream that might align with just this, of guilt. She pushed it away. Solas was gone. He was never coming back. It didn’t make her a terrible person to simply try to move on. If he’d truly loved her, he would have stayed, right?

That seemed to be the spring-release. The trap sprung that allowed her to act. That allowed her hands to go to his chest, grabbing into his armored mantle and pulling him closer. Cullen’s large palms slid, rough and full, over her waist and hips before cupping her thighs and _picking_ her up. He braced her against the door. A thrill shot up her spine. He held her up easily, not missing a beat as he leaned in, mouth trailing to her throat. There was no hesitation in him either. Her permission given, he came at her like a storm. It was as if he’d been holding back for just this moment. He freed one hand, going to her coat and tearing the buttons apart. His palm was rough, heavy on her breast as he fought her shirt open so he could reach bare skin. 

There was very little finesse in his actions. There was nothing like style or gentleness. It was….Cullen. A force to be reckoned with. His eyes were burning hot amber, focused and dark. He had a goal. It would be achieved. 

Once he had a hand on her bared breast, he swung around, still supporting her full weight (and armor, and weapons _and_ pack) with his other arm. He walked over to the dressing table by the window and put her down on it. He shoved away the guest tray of cosmetics and soaps, not looking twice when a compact of powder hit the floor and burst. He pulled the straps of her pack off, unstrapping her bow and carefully setting it aside. Then his hands returned, eagerly pushing her coat down and off her arms. He pushed her against the oval mirror, using both hands to quickly unlace her other gauntlet and then pull her shirt from her trousers. 

She reached up to his mantle, trying to unhook his cloak. He batted her hands aside, grabbing both in one of his to pin them against the mirror. He attacked her throat, mouth traveling up to her pointed ear, nipping at the tip. 

“I—I probably smell like horses,” she breathed. “We—the road was—“

“I don’t _care_ ,” he growled. His hands went to her belt, uncoiling the tongue and whipping it off of her before tossing it aside. He grabbed her up roughly in his arms, feeling the cold kiss of steel armor on her skin. “I don’t care what you smell like. Or how sweaty you get from fighting. Or your scars or cramps in your fingers from making arrows. Or how green the anchor makes you glow.” He knelt down on the bed, putting her down and untying her trousers. “I care about--do you want this?”

She stared, a little taken aback by his intensity. "I...Cullen...I..."

"I know how you feel about Solas. How you felt for him. And how it still lingers."

"Cullen--you should never be anyone's second best. You are too good of a man for that."

"Maybe one day when you're ready to let him go--if we're both still unattached five years from now--and maybe by then I'll be able to let go of everything from the past. But until then...I..." his eyes faltered. "It didn't start this way. But you are...there's all this sharpness in your features. And you--you have put so much into trying to find him. He doesn't realize what he's thrown away. I know what that's like--to be devoted, loyal--and to have it disrespected and thrown in your face. He removed your tattoos and then left you. Left _you_ to have to explain everything. It wasn't fair, what he did. And it wasn't right. I don't know why he would have set you up for that kind of cruelty--for your sake, I hope its a misunderstanding. Maybe he was trying to protect you. But Knight-Commander Meredith might have said the same, even as the red lyrium drove her mad and she brutalized the mages of the Kirkwall Circle." He took a steeling breath. "But in the end--this isn't about any of that for me. I...I want you," he said finally. "And solace from loneliness can be taken from both sides. That being said, if you want me to leave, I will." 

She stared up at him, not expecting such an answer. He was admitting he was lonely, like she was lonely. Suggesting they take comfort in each other and, maybe one day--if either of them could let go of the past--maybe there could be more. They were just people, in the end. This could simply be physical. No messy emotions. She took a deep breath. "Don't go." 

And just like that, he was kissing her again. His fingers tangled in her hair when he finally got her completely naked beneath him. That was when he finally seemed all right to let her touch him. She unhooked his cloak from his mantle, gently removing it. He shrugged off the steel breastplate, the coat, the mantle and the armor plated vest he was wearing under it. Underneath _that_ was a mail shirt. 

“I…I didn’t realize you wore so much under your cloak.”

He smiled crookedly. “I’m your first line of defense when we travel together. I usually don’t get to be.” His eyes searched hers. “Every time you ride off, I…” he looked down and shook his head. “I want to protect you. Here in the capital…anyone could be after you.”

“Cullen—“

“I _won’t_ run from your side,” he said, staring down into her face.

“Cullen…” she said softly, unable to process anything else. She touched his face, fingers sliding back to card through his hair.

He leaned down to her, mouths meeting, becoming acquainted. She breathed him in, fingers going to the mail shirt and uncoupling the catches at the throat, the straps holding it down to his arms, the belt across the wide chest. She slid it off of him, the metal still hot from his skin. Underneath that was smooth muscle, thick and hard. She hadn’t realized before, the raw _power_ in his shoulders. It made her mouth taste like steel. The sandalwood his Templar abilities had scented him with had altered the longer he was without Lyrium. Now, he smelled like pine. He smelled earthy. Masculine. It was richly complemented by the leather and steel of his armor.

He had to pull back to remove his boots, eyes too heated to properly explain as he sat back and quickly began to unbelt the straps. She got on her knees behind him, gently smoothing her hands over his shoulders. He seemed to unconsciously lean back into her touch. He shuddered faintly.

Eckona embraced him. He was starving for attention. Starving for a gentle touch as much as she was; far, far more than she was. He had struggled against addiction, against what he’d done as a Templar, against memories of Kirkwall, not to mention the Inquisition and….he’d done all of it alone. Completely alone.

She buried her eyes in his shoulder. “Cullen, I’m so sorry.” She felt him freeze under her hands. “Nothing’s wrong,” she said into his shoulder. “I just—you’ve been doing everything alone. I’ve had support—sometimes whether I wanted it or not—but you…you’ve been so selfless.”

His hands faltered at his trousers. He shook his head, finishing and then turning his head. “Don’t,” he said softly. “I did terrible things. I—“

“But you aren’t terrible now. It takes greater strength to recognize what you do wrong and change yourself. You fight against the prejudice that you were indoctrinated with.”

He stared up at her, as she was still sitting on her knees beside him. “I—“

“You are a _good_ man,” she told him. 

He shifted, curling a leg under him and using it to lever himself up. His hands pulled her in, scooping her off her knees and kneeling over her. His palms went to her thighs, large and warm as his eyes wandered over her. “It has been…some time…” he admitted, quietly.

She nodded. “For me as well…” she said softly, looking away a bit.

“Do you—er—I mean, can I—ah…” he struggled to find the words.

“Yes,” she cut him off. “Yes, Cullen.”

He took a rough breath and nodded quickly as he leaned down to her.

He was thicker than Solas, longer too, but he was slow, easing inside of her. She could feel him shaking, fighting to keep his control. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him to her. She heard him choke off a sound and felt him deep inside of her—forcing a moan from her throat. 

One of his hands went to the back of her head, tilting her face so he could stare into her eyes. It made her shudder, looking into her like that, and her looking into him. It was…it was unnerving how naked it made her feel. How vulnerable. But his eyes stayed with her, no matter the fear or uncertainty he saw there. He stayed with her. He stayed with her until his eyes twitched and he took a startled breath that nearly broke his focus. She grabbed onto him, curling fingers into his hair. “Don’t worry, Cullen. Let go…you can let go…”

He broke pace, slower but harder. Her right hand slid down, digging into his back. He buried his eyes in her throat, moving harsh, rough, building to frantic until he stiffened. And then he lifted her hips and _shifted_. Her spine curved, eyes going wide and frenzied and being swept up with him. 

 

 

That might have been the most interesting thing to happen…..at least until they found the corpse.


	15. Searing Solas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “They said you disappeared from the meeting?” Cullen asked.
> 
> “Yes—there’s a dead Qunari warrior in full armor in the city.”
> 
> “What.” Cullen stared at her.
> 
> “Oh, that doesn’t bode well.”
> 
> “Oh, it gets better,” Eckona said, pulling on her thick, plain leather gloves. “I found an active Eluvian too.”
> 
> “Shit,” Cullen sighed.

Eckona had to remind herself not to put her forehead in her palm. She was not suited for this sort of political posturing and debate. It seemed obvious to her that their intentions had not been bad. They’re _closed the Breach_ for fuck’s sake. They _defeated Corypheus_. Why was Fereldan suddenly accusing them of overreaching for power? 

It was a welcome sight when an Elven aid came to her side and offered escape in the form of Leliana needing to talk to her. With any luck, she would have a solution to this clusterfuck. Or maybe she just wanted an orange. Or maybe some tips about her new hat.

But Leliana met her in a ransacked little room, hardly more than a shack – by Orlesian standard, anyway. 

Inside, was a dead Qunari.

“Shit,” Eckona sighed. “Dammit. I was really hoping for something….else. Dammit.”

So cue the Inquisition scavenger hunt, to find answers and uncover mystery. Always the mysteries. It seemed like they were hardly ever mysteries, not really. It was just about knowledge. Someone knew why a Qunari was in Halamshiral. Someone had made _sure_ he’d gotten there, after all. Guards would have noticed a battle, right? There was some reason he was there—perhaps placed there, seemed more likely. 

And then she found the Eluvian.

Eckona stared at it. No. Oh no. This didn’t bode well. An Eluvian. Here. In Halamshiral. 

Suddenly, this Exalted Council seemed small potatoes. She went back to the Bold Horse, pulling off the formal attire and pulling on her armor. Her door was left open—she was still keeping her tunic and trousers on, after all—and Dorian appeared shortly, with Cullen. 

“They said you disappeared from the meeting?” Cullen asked.

“Yes—there’s a dead Qunari warrior in full armor in the city.”

“What.” Cullen stared at her.

“Oh, that doesn’t bode well.”

“Oh, it gets better,” Eckona said, pulling on her thick, plain leather gloves. “I found an _active_ Eluvian too.”

“Shit,” Cullen sighed.

“Oh, shit,” Dorian echoed.

“Yeah, exactly. Cullen—go keep an eye on proceedings for me? And send Sera and Cassandra my way?”

“Of course, Inquisitor.” His eyes lingered on her as she tightened her belt, preparing again to go into combat without him. He glanced at Dorian, who was looking right at him. The commander turned away, heading out.

“Careful, he’ll be smitten,” Dorian said when Rutherford was out of earshot.

She didn’t smile. “No, he's not. We're both just lonely. That was all it was, yesterday. So shut up about it. Have you sensed anything unusual here?”

“Nothing moreso than usual,” Dorian told her, pulling off the black coat he wore and disappearing to grab his armor and come back. 

By the time he returned, Sera had arrived and was outfitting herself. Cassandra appeared not long after her. 

“Magic and trouble?” asked the warrior.

Eckona threw her hands up. “Per fucking usual.”

Cassandra smiled. “What would we be without trouble about.”

“A bunch of nursemaids playing Wicked Grace,” Dorian answered.

Eckona picked up her bow, strapping it to her back and then hesitated. In the closet, she’d stashed a staff. Well, not just a staff. It had been one of _his_. She’d hidden it among the caravan supplies. There was no particular reason that she thought to bring it…it had just…seemed right. One of the founding members of the Inquisition could at least have a piece of himself present if it ended. 

She wrung her fingers together, no doubt the others were watching her curiously. And then she huffed and went to the door, throwing it open and removing the staff. She hooked it to her left shoulder, avoiding Dorian’s eyes—knowing he was staring at it. He recognized it immediately for what it was. 

She led the way to the Eluvian and the four of them stepped through. There was a heavy bloodtrail leading into the Crossroads. “I wish Morrigan hadn’t left,” she sighed. “She knew so much.”

“You were jealous,” Sera said, a smirk in her voice.

Eckona huffed. “Yes. I was.”

“Really?” Dorian mused. “A human mage—“

“Who was buckets more intelligent than I could ever hope to be,” Eckona finished. “I’m not proud of it. At the time it was…” Eckona shook her head and headed into the Crossroads. 

The splatters of blood led them to another Eluvian.

“Elven ruins,” Dorian sighed. “It’s always Elven ruins.”

“Why do I keep coming back for trips like this?” Sera sighed.

“To keep us humble,” Cassandra answered dryly.

The valley the mirror took them to was lush and green and beautiful. It reminded her of the Exalted Plains—but less dry. There was mist and hills and….many, many statues of wolves and mosaics of Elven gods. Dirthamen, from the look of it, perhaps. And Fen’Harel. 

The spirit champions they encountered seemed to support that.

_Atish’all Vallem, Fen’Harel Elathadra._

Some of that was ancient Elvish. The path of truth, perhaps? Fen’Harel welcomes you? 

_Nuvenas mana helanin, dirth bellasa ma._

You struggle against hope? Desire? Want? You of much knowledge. 

You struggle against what you already know? 

Was there some truth she knew that she was…trying to understand but…deep down perhaps, already knew?

 _Andaran Atish’an, Seharan--_ she told them. This place of peace, the land of dreams—

 _Virthar ma. Na din’an sahlin._ You walk this path. (Unless ‘ma’ was being used as a negation? Do not walk this path.) You are in a place of death. (You die, now.)

And then they attacked. Well, in her defense, ancient elvish was enough different from modern Elvish that a perfect translation wasn’t possible on the fly. And even then, Elven rather meandered. It wasn’t always so clear as human languages. It could have other meaning, depending on their true intent. 

Whatever it was, the spirits were gone now. They could only view what they guarded. How unusual, really—a mosaic that was truly of….

….of Fen’Harel.

She felt a flood of comfort wash over her. This mosaic was heavily imbued with magic. She felt guarded and protected and _safe_. She felt impossibly at ease, grateful, unashamed, and her eyes welling up with tears. 

Cassandra reached out, gently touching her shoulder. “Eckona…?”

“I…it…it feels like….like home,” she said faintly. “And all the good that can go with it…”

“Rest, knowing the Dread Wolf guards you and his people guard this valley. In this place, you are free. In trusting us, you will never be bound again,” Dorian mused aloud. “You know, he doesn’t seem so bad when framed like that.”

“It’s Fenny,” Sera grumbled, though she too, had to turn away from the mosaic. She wiped her eyes, hard and fast, cursing softly to herself.

“That doesn’t…Fen’Harel is supposed to be the trickster god. The god of misfortune, misplaced ambition…”

“Oh, if only Solas was here—he might make heads or tails of it,” Dorian crossed his arms.

But then, in the Temple of Mythal there had been the placards there…

_It just seemed odd that he’d banish the other gods for no other reason than to simply walk the Dream alone. Perhaps they were horrible. Perhaps he was the only one who had the potential to be good among them?_

“It says he created it as a refuge for Elven slaves.”

“Slaves of _ancient_ elves? Fucking pricks,” Sera growled.

A strange feeling flitted through her. Something on the very edge of realization but….unclear, fuzzy, something that was right on the tip of her tongue. If she could just say it.

The next Eluvian took them to another mosaic.

A spirit flitted, flickering over the steps, impossibly fast, vanishing right into the mural.

“What was that? Another spirit guardian?”

“Huh?” Cassandra asked her.

“You saw it, right? It ran—it was so fast.”

Dorian peered at her. “I didn’t.”

“Sera?” She asked, turning to look at the other elf.

But Sera wasn’t looking at her. She was looking stubbornly across the valley. “I don’t want no part of it. I don’t.”

“Sera—“

“I said I don’t! This is all fucking piss!”

“There’s a red sock over here,” Dorian called over. “And a book. Isn’t this one of Varric’s?”

“Stop it! It can’t be one of Varric’s!” Sera burst out, eyes wide and distressed. “Just shut up!”

“Sera….,” Eckona tried, gently.

“No! You know, for the first time, I wish Scary Ghost was here. Even he makes more sense than this shit!”

Eckona read the second mural. 

"Fen’Harel has been falsely named a god, but is as mortal as any of you. He takes no divine mantle, and asks that none be bestowed upon him. He leads only those who would help willingly. Let none be beholden but by choice." 

Eckona didn’t move for a long, long moment.

“So, Fen’Harel was like Mythal, then?” Dorian asked.

“Yes,” she answered, faintly. “A name carried on, perhaps even a spirit carried on. Like Flemeth.”

The thought danced into her mind, just out of sight. Pieces filing together in line, terrible organization. 

“Eckona….you’re shaking,” Cassandra said, putting a steadying hand on her shoulder. “Are you all right, my friend?”

“An….” Eckona swallowed hard. “I…I don’t know.”

“He could still exist, like Flemeth, yes? So he may potentially be on our side,” Dorian suggested.

“Eck…” Sera murmured, looking at her feet. “He…he could just….just have chosen Fen’Harry as his…like, his favorite God, you know. His patron. Like the Dalish pick them.”

The two humans looked at the two elves, then at each other. Cassandra shrugged.

Eckona nodded. “Yes…that…that could be.” That put her a little more at ease. There could always be a simple explanation. Nothing had to be complicated. Usually, the simplest answers were the best to run with. 

The two elves still didn’t look at each other when they moved on.

“The old Elven gods must have loved a rebel like that.”

_Why wolves?_

_Fen’Harel’s beast was the wolf. It is said he was a trickster but, his other name was the god of rebellion. I thought it appropriate, given the circumstances which created the Inquisition_.

The third mosaic made them feel bitterness and fury. Old elven gods, not gods at all.

“The Dalish. Are going. To shit themselves,” Sera said, shaking her head.

 

 

 

The Qunari had set up shop in what appeared to be a temple—similar to Mythal’s but perhaps for Fen’Harel. The mural near the back of it was expansive, covering an entire wall. 

“Fen’Harel removing _Vallaslin_ from elves. Solas said they were used to mark slaves…”

All at once, that lurking suspicion was back, peering at her from the edge of her mind, tempting her forward. She reached up, absently touching her face where her markings had once been. _Solas removed my--_

“Wonder where Solas learned how to do that. He’d make a lot of money in a city somewhere—helping people remove tattoos with no blood or nothing,” Sera said loudly. “The Fade, probably. Like everything else he learned. Except his people skills.”

“I wonder if this was a mark that only Fen’Harel knew how to remove,” Dorian mused as the Inquisitor lit the second brazier and opened up the floor of the temple. “There must have been others—else Solas would have known that Fen’Harel was mortal instead of _Evanuris_. You know, also—that word. It simply means _mage leader_. Like Tevinter magisters.”

“Looks like someone got here before us,” Sera said, waving to Eckona and handing her a letter.

_Two hours ago, an unknown intruder penetrated our defenses. Masked and cloaked. A mage. Used magic to awaken spirits and turned them against us. Intruder moved as if they knew this place, fled after spirits awoke…_

Eckona pushed the letter into her pocket. “I don’t suppose it might be Morrigan? She liked places like this. She knew the Eluvians.” But even as she said it, there was a sinking feeling in her chest. 

Dare she hope to believe that….it might be Solas? 

Could it be that after two years, he might finally come back to them? 

That maybe her connecting him to Fen’Harel was just a desperate mind and the real explanation was, as many were, much simpler. He’d somehow found out about the Qunari and had come to help in his own way. But maybe he didn’t feel he could approach them directly. Maybe he was afraid they’d be angry…

That _she_ would be angry.

She wanted to think that. She wanted to believe that if it would mean that she could speak to him again. Yes, she’d be angry but after she punched him once or twice, she’d still hug him tighter than…than, well, anything she could imagine. Her hand drifted to his staff, touching the wood grain and gripping into it with her left hand—

Her hand sparked. “Ah!” She jerked hard, stumbling into the wall.

“Are you all right!” Dorian asked, touching her shoulder.

Eckona shuddered, holding her wrist. “I….I’m not sure. What was—it’s stopped. It surprised me. I’m sorry. I…”

“It is paining you? Like just after the Breach was created?” Cassandra asked.

Eckona shook her hand out. “I…it seems to be…”

“I never did become as good at quieting it as Solas,” Dorian lamented. “But allow me to try.” The Tevinter mage took her hand, covering the green light and closing his eyes. She could feel his focus, how he attempted to suppress it. He used his Necromancy to do it, reaching into the Fade and….almost smothering the mark, like a bucket of water on fire. 

It still breathed, still burned but quieted a little. Her fingers twitched. “Thank you, Dorian.”

The mage exchanged a glance with Cassandra. “Perhaps your Templar ability might come in useful next time, Seeker. I don’t think I’ll be able to quiet it if it flares like that again.”

“It’s building up power faster than normal,” Eckona said quietly. “I can feel it…”

 

 

The presence of the Qunari was strange. But when they ventured into the Deep Roads, via another Eluvian, it became stranger.

_You, who serve Fen’Harel! The Qun demands your death!_

The Qunari thought they were in league with Fen’Harel? Agents of Fen’Harel running amock through the Crossroads?

It was harrowing, destroying the lyrium complex they’d built in this section of the Deep Roads. But still, nothing there to indicate why they’d be associated with Fen’Harel.

Unless Fen’Harel, like Mythal, really _was_ a real person. 

Which meant it must be someone they’d been seen with or done business with or fought with—which could include a vast number of contacts. 

Still—perhaps Morrigan? 

_Not Solas. It can’t be Solas._ That was just her wanting to see him again. There was…

She shook her head. 

Wait, Morrigan had drunk from the Well of Sorrows, would it even be _possible_ for her to be Fen’Harel? 

There was too much going on and not enough answers. Someone was pulling strings in the background. 

_It cannot be Solas._

And then Cole said to her, “Your hand hurts. A heartbeat, not yours, hammering the beat of a song in its final verse. I’m sorry.”

She stared at him. It had been a while since she’d felt so uneasy about something he said. He seemed to be saying a lot of things like this suddenly. Breaking dreams to stop old dreams. Wolf chewing its leg off to escape the trap. Was she only noticing because of the sudden focus on Fen’Harel?

She shook herself and walked away. Keep going. Keep going. This Qunari plot didn’t seem very well thought out but it was still present and she still had to deal with it. A squabble over servants (“Yes, you WILL hand over that elf, _sir_. She’s with the Inquisition. Now, step away.”)

“Nobles are nice, servants are happy? When the hell has that ever happened? Qunari are fucking about—but there’s something else going on,” was all Sera would say. The other elf didn’t seem to want to discuss what had happened beyond that. 

And then the Elven servants _disappeared_. 

 

 

 

Still, as terrible as everything was boiling to again—when they went through the next Eluvian (this one, hidden in the Winter Palace) and found themselves in a massive library, it took her breath away. Yes, the library seemed partially destroyed. It was…like a Fade library or something. But it was still incredibly beautiful.

The spirits were eager to impart knowledge that they could remember—though the fragmented nature of their purpose and the resulting distress seemed to upset Cole. 

_The Dread Wolf comes in humble guises, a wanderer who knows much of the People and their Spirits._

She shoved the book into her satchel. Her unease was deeper, a cold pit in her stomach.

Again, no answers from the Viddasala. Just the accusation. Agents of Fen’Harel.

_We have learned from this place that there lived an elven mage who saw a great wrong and sacrificed all to right it. This mage made the Veil, which protects us from the Fade. This Veil stripped power from his rulers._

Fen’Harel. 

_It can’t be Morrigan. But you knew that, didn’t you._

The next time her Mark pulsed, she was in the command chamber with her advisers (who were arguing) and Dorian. It shattered with green light and this time, nothing could be done. She choked on a groan, gritted her teeth and curling her right hand into a tight fist, punching it into the floor. Dorian grabbed onto her, trying to suppress the magic—but it flared, slamming into him. The Tevinter mage was thrown back, smashing his head into the command table. Cullen hurried around it to go to her but did not quite dare to touch her. Josephine went to Dorian to help him sit up, wiping blood off his temple.

Eckona’s heart was pounding, breathing staggered and dizzy. “So…this is getting worse.” She couldn’t seem to help it, a laugh bubbling up from her chest. “It’s getting worse—it’s killing me,” she told her advisers, chuckling. “We stop the Breach, stop Corypheus, lose Solas, close rifts, come here—nobles want to hate us, the Qunari are attacking and, by the way, my Mark is going to kill me. So—I need to get to Darvaarad before that happens. Josephine, I don’t give two fucks what you tell the nobles. I don’t care if they dismantle the Inquisition. Why did we hide the body in the first place? Tell them the truth. All of it.”

“My lady, we—“

“No,” she cut Josephine off. “This isn’t like one of the minor squabbles about who will protect peasants from a Rift. We need to do the right thing—no matter if they dismantle us or not. I’m not going to stop just because their egos are bruised. I don’t have a lot of time left, I imagine.”

Cullen stared at her, suddenly noticing the sweat on her brow. Suddenly noticing how pale she’d gone, how her spirit seemed almost stretched. Too thin. “I will come with you—“

“No,” she said flatly. “You stay here. Protect the others.”

When she left the command chamber, Cullen followed her. She headed automatically for the Eluvian and Cullen grabbed her by the arm, pulling her into an alcove.

“Eckona—“

“Don’t, Cullen.” She tried to slip away from him.

He tightened his grip, pushing her into the darkened corner. “If you die—“

“I’m going to die. Whatever is making the mark active again—it’s not an accident.”

“How do you _know_?”

“I can feel it.”

“Eckona—“

“We’ve found a lot of terrible things today. And I am very afraid…” her voice caught and then moved on, “I’m very afraid that it’s not the worst of all things.” 

“Fen’Harel.” It was not a question.

She glanced up at him.

“Do you know who it is?”

She shuddered against the stone, voice breaking. “I _hope_ not.”

Cullen embraced her, burying his nose in her hair. “Let me come with you then.”

“No,” she pulled back, shaking her head. “You are a _good_ man. They’ll need you before this is over.”

“And what about you?”

She bowed her head. “You’re no good to anyone if you die with me.”

“Before all this happened, when we arrived at the manor, we—“

“I know. We said it was for loneliness. Maybe we weren't even lying to ourselves,” she said faintly. "But I gave in. I shouldn't have. I'm sorry. "

“I’m not.” 

She looked away.

“No matter what happens or what you find there…I have no regrets.” His large palms went to her shoulders. The grip was tight, almost possessive, as if he could stop death by holding onto her. 

It took everything in her to pull away, to gently push him back—or would have—if her Mark hadn’t flared violently. She cried out, seizing against the wall, legs turning to jelly. She sank against him, pain blinding her, ripping through her body, tearing apart muscle and fracturing bone.

Cullen jerked back and then held her up, watching her eyes roll back and her mouth desperately attempt to take in air. He was helpless, only able to watch her writhe in agony. 

Cole appeared next to the opening of the alcove. Cassandra was with him, arms crossed. “We have to go,” the spirit said softly. 

The Mark flashed once more and then dimmed. Eckona flailed a little, grabbing into Cullen’s muscled arm so she wouldn’t collapse. “Yes. We…I have to go.”

“I will come with you,” Cole told her.

“No—you—“

“Oh, shut up,” Dorian breathed. “You didn’t even stay to make sure I was all right. Planning to run off and play the hero? I’ll seduce the Commander here away from you, if I must.”

Sera came forward. “C’mon, stupid.” She put an arm under Eckona and pulled her away from Cullen. “We’ll be back later. Prepare the hot chocolate! And wine.”

“And all the hash we can smoke,” Dorian added. He helped steady Eckona and when she was standing, they went to the Eluvian.

“And cake,” Cole added, for no particular reason.

Cullen watched them go through, hating his helplessness.

 

 

 

On the other side, after she regained her feet, Eckona breathed and then she smiled. “Last time out, Team Misfit. Let’s make some noise.”

"A shame, in a way. I did wish to read Varric's new book. But at least no one can ever tell him," Cassandra mused, smiling.

Sera burst into laughter, whooping and firing an exploding arrow into the sky. “EAT IT, you DICKS! If this works, I’ll study magic, I swear.”

Dorian grinned. “I’ll be glad to teach you, Sera. You’d make a fine Necromancer.”

“Don’t get your hopes up, Vint!” She bounded down the steps, dancing and shaking her bow at the sky. “Last time to be legend!”

Eluvians, a dragon, that bitch Viddasala tried to get Bull to betray them, and it gave her the finest feeling in the world when he told her to fuck herself (ma’am). 

They chased her down to one more Eluvian. She was still spouting shit about Fen’Harel. 

“I’m fucking sick of hearing about Fen’Harel!” She grabbed her bow, strung an arrow—and her hand flared. Her bow splintered in the left hand. “Fucking—goddammit!” The weapon fell to pieces at her feet, her arrow followed. 

“You would have died from the mark on your hand, but for the help of one of their chief agents.”

“Shut. UP!” She grabbed for Solas’ staff. Desperate to shut her up. To stop the noise. To stop—

_Don't say it. Don't fucking say it._

“The same agent who helped seal the breach. Who led you to Skyhold. Who gave Corypheus the Orb, then founded the Inquisition.”

_Solas._

“Solas, the Agent of Fen’Harel.”

“That’s fucking stupid,” Sera snapped. “That’s…” and then her eyes widened at the floor.

Eckona stood up, _his_ staff in her right hand. She was shaking, rage coursing through every fiber of her being. 

_So almost everyone has lied to me._

_Why wolves?_

_Fen’Harel—our stories about him were wrong._

_How did you know about this place, Solas?_

_How do you know so much?_

_You’re friends with spirits?_

_What's the matter? Allergic to Halla?_

_So much knowledge and so little personal history. I do find that peculiar._

_….where did you learn to paint elven frescos?_

Her Mark flashed again, dragging her to her knees, crying out, screaming in anger, in pain—for everything she was praying she was wrong about. For everything he had told her as a lie. For every moment….

“If it is any consolation, Inquisitor, Solas will not outlive you.” She stepped through the Eluvian.

Cole went to her side, grabbing her arm to help her up. “They’re going to try to kill him—“

“I have to save him!” She burst out, frantically scrambling to get up.

It was totally irrational. The looks that crossed her companions' faces were clear on that.

She was enraged, she was in pain, she was going to die. But if she could see him, if she could save him—the Qunari might be lying—

_They’re not._

\--she had to find out. She _must_.

She took off at a run. The beauty of the wooded ruins was lost on her. She couldn’t hear anything but her blood rushing in her ears and the terrible confirmation of deep-set suspicion. 

“If Solas does not help—the Mark will kill you. He must help, as he did in Haven—“ Cassandra took off after her.

“Solas doesn’t like to hurt people! He isn’t that kind of wolf! The Qunari don’t see!”

“Solas has betrayed us—if he does not help with the Mark—“

“Fuck him! Fuck him hard! We fill him full of shitting arrows! We're owed!”

_Please, anything. Give me anything that will prove them wrong. Please, don’t let him be my enemy._

_Please don’t._

_Don’t._

There were a million images in her head, flashing by in silver and gold and grey. The first time he sat with her at camp and her hands got cold and clammy and she couldn’t quite meet his eyes. But he was so kind and—

His magic enveloping her like a cloak, protecting her from bandit strikes.

He seated her in his quarters, by the fire. His hands skimmed over her skin, touching her jawline, tracing her throat. He leaned in to gently breathe in at her throat. “You are _ripe_ with magic. It has been stoppered up.”

Using _ripe_ to imply the fullness of it, the feel of it, how sexual it made it sound—and he _knew_ it.

His _desire_ when he slid fingers over her tunic, down her back and under it to find skin. To lift so he could view the tattoos on her spine. “I did some reading about this method of binding. This is a locking seal. Your brother is your twin, isn't he? He was a mage and when you showed the potential for magic they bound you so that you could stay. But it was never the same afterwards...”

 

 

She wanted to shriek into the Void, into the Crossroads, into the Abyss. 

She ignored the battles, losing her head completely and dashing from mirror to mirror. Were the others keeping up? Were they stuck fighting? She wasn’t sure. 

She jumped through the last Eluvian—and was greeted with stone statues. She jerked back, grip tightening on _his_ staff. 

Behind her, the Eluvian went dark.

“S-Solas!” She wanted to cry out but her voice choked. She wove her way through the eerie menagerie of Qunari warriors. And then—

“Tell the Qunari to trouble me no further.”

She threw herself forward, seeing the slight, willowy build standing before the hulking Qunari woman. How she braced and attacked and he turned her to stone.

He was dressed resplendently. Golden armor and leather, a wolfskin over his shoulder. True, elven armor. His ragged cloak fluttered as he started to _walk away_ —

“Solas,” she managed.

And when he turned around—it was everything she wanted and yet, not at all. The slightly sad smile, the warmth in his eyes, the calm timbre in his voice.

“Please tell me they’re wrong.”

His face didn’t change. He was quiet a moment, only his eyes going down, then up. “They told you I was an agent of Fen’Harel. I believe you may already know what I am. Your instinct was correct. It is far simpler. But far worse.”

“You _are_ Fen’Harel,” she said slowly, closing her eyes, feeling as if someone had forced ice cubes into her stomach. 

Out loud, those words hung between them like a sunset. It made everything real. It made everything true. 

“Yes. I am.”

“Solas…” she breathed. “Just—I know the elves mean….everything to you. I know the Veil and—“

“I created the Veil. I cast down would-be Gods and I destroyed everything of my people.”

“No—Solas—there are _other_ things. There are….other people. There are so many you could _help_.”

“I must help _my_ people.”

“None of _your_ people are left, Solas!” She grabbed into the wolf pelt. “The ancient elves are gone—why do you need to restore that world? No one lives who could share it with you!”

“Everything I hated about the Dalish, about the alienages, about ignorance and hate—I caused it. I would give the elves now a chance to be as they were.”

“To what end!” She cried out. “To become no better than slavers? To subjugate humans as Tevinter did to us? To rip spirits through to our world—which confuses and frightens them—“

“Only because there is a barrier now. Were spirits to live alongside us as they were meant—“

“Solas, you’ll create a prison for everyone else. You’ll be no better than the tyrants you banished! Why would this world need die for the elves to return?”

Solas turned away from her. “A good question—but one I won’t answer.”

“Dammit, Solas—you can’t do this. You can’t—it’s madness. Destroy this world—and what will be left? Are there other worlds out there for you to restart on? There will be nothing. Can’t you…see….?”

“I take no joy in this—“

“Then why do it!”

“Because it is necessary.”

“No—it’s really not. Corypheus is gone. Come back to Skyhold—and let me _help_ you.”

“I cannot. It would only cause more distraction. More diversion.”

“You want to end up like the other Redcliffe? That horrible future—“

“Was Corypheus. Not me.”

“How is it different, at the end?”

“You should be more concerned about your Inquisition.” He finally turned back to face her.

“Fuck the Inquisition, Solas!” She reached forward again and this time, didn’t let him turn away. “I’m not here for the Inquisition—not….not completely. At first, yes, of course but…when I began to suspect that you were involved I…I couldn’t just walk away. You gave Corypheus your orb and we knew he would have destroyed everything. You doing the same—“

“I would have restored the elves of my time. The world of my time. It is _not_ the same.”

“And the _Evanuris_? What about them?”

“I had plans for them.”

“So you would, what, unleash them on humans, dwarfs, Qunari and elves like me so that you could have elves with immortality again? Is that really worth it?”

“Many things were destroyed when I created the Veil. There would be much to do when the Veil was brought down. I awoke in this world where so many had no connection to the Fade. So many lives, shallow husks of what they could be. What they had been. Like parasites. Like tranquil.”

She stared up at him. “……are we even real to you?”

He looked down at her hands. “You became real. You showed me that people with spirit could exist. Did exist. You showed me the limits of my control and you tested it.”

“Then come back with us.”

“No,” he said, quietly. “This must be done.”

“Then why help us? Why bother?" She demanded tersely. "Why not let us all die at the Winter Palace? If you’re going to let us all die anyway then what does it matter?”

“They can at least die in comfort until the day comes where I must cleanse everything.”

“Oh, I’m sure that will be very comforting for them!”

His expression didn’t change. He only watched her, sadly. “I hope that it will give your people some final peace.”

She dropped his staff and her hand flew out. She cracked him across the face. It was loud there in the silence between them. “You think you’re some kind of _martyr_ now?” She was trembling. “You—you think you—“

His expression was still stoic, almost blank. But he stepped forward and pulled her to him. “We are running out of time, _Vhenan_.”

“Solas—we can _endure_ this if you just stop—“ 

The mark flared, biting and burning and twisting. She writhed, crying out, breathing in blood and metal and pepper as he leaned in to her, urging her to the ground. 

His mouth found hers, flashing heat and terror and rage all at once, searing into her from the inside out.


	16. Twin Binding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t stab the maps!” Cassandra lamented, using both hands to gesture at her dagger. “Do you know how long it takes to make maps like this?”
> 
> “Sorry. I’ll have a new one made.”
> 
> “With what coin?”
> 
> Oh, that was a good point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The superstition about twins being a split soul is actually a real superstition. It's really interesting reading. 
> 
> Also, I know I'm taking a leap here introducing some new elements before we head to Tevinter but--I thought it might be interesting. I've been kicking around the tattoo on her back and what I might do with it since nearly the beginning. (Though it only was referenced two or three times)

On the other side, the Eluvian became bright again and Cassandra raced through it, crying out for the Inquisitor. Dorian ran with her, Cole loping at his side.

Sera jumped up on a rock—saw _his_ shadow disappear into a massive Eluvian. She drew an arrow and loosed it after him. It vanished into the mirror but the glass went dark.

“Eckona!” Cassandra’s cry cut through the charged air. 

Dorian went to his knees, dragging Eckona’s armor off.

Cole cried out, pitifully. “Bleeding, burning, burying, desperation—she tried to save him but he doesn’t want to be saved. He thinks he has to do it. He has to wake the dreamers. He has to tear the sheets away and give them all the world they think they want—but they _don’t_ ,” he told them, kneeling next to the Inquisitor. “The wolf estranged from its pack, then it becomes angry and sad and it cannot see any other way but to begin again. Fresh and clean but dark with blood. Blood everywhere. A flicker and the light in their eyes will be dark.” 

“Ah, shit!” Sera sputtered.

Her left arm was severed at the elbow, neat and clean. Blood was thick on the ground. 

“He did it with magic,” Dorian said quietly. 

“But why? Why not just—“

“To save her life.”

“Then why fucking leave! And where’s her arm!” Sera exclaimed.

Dorian looked at the massive Eluvian, now dark and imposing. Cassandra followed his look and closed her eyes. 

Dorian scooped her up in his arms. “We should get her back to the Palace.”

“Fuck you, Fen’Harel! FUCK YOU!” Sera screamed. “Fuck you! I hate you! You and all the other stupid pissing elven gods and all their stupid customs and followers and you’re the fucking worst of them!”

Cole reached out. “Your pain is like a bead of sorrow. He is blinded to all of us.” 

“He was stupid but I wanted him to be different, at least.” Sera whirled around to follow Dorian and Cassandra.

 

 

Cullen was waiting for them when they burst back through the Eluvian. “Dorian!”

“She needs healing magic. Now.”

Cullen took off at a run, rousing one of their own and bringing him to the Inquisitor. By then, Dorian had her uncovered and on the floor. Her eyes were slivers, barely open and hardly conscious.

“Her arm…” Cullen grimaced. He looked at Cassandra. “What happened? Where’s Solas?”

“We cannot be sure. He only allowed _her_ through the final Eluvian. We will have to wait until she wakes up to know what happened. But it appears that he is the one who took her arm.”

Cullen swore, pacing as he watched the healer work. At least it was a clean sever. She groaned faintly as the sparkle of magic lit up the room. Dorian channeled to the healing mage, letting him draw power. Cole twisted his fingers together, standing beside Sera. They watched the flesh grow and crawl and knot under her elbow. 

“Solas….don’t….” she murmured, eyes glazed.

“He will let everyone die to bring back the past.” Cole shuddered. “He is different now. Colder. He thinks he is doing the right thing.”

“The best villains always do,” Dorian said softly. He sat on the floor, bracing his back against a wardrobe.

Cullen picked her up when the healer was finished, carrying her back to the Bold Horse. The stars were twinkling at them now, spying on them as the ragged group made it back. 

Varric met them at the door. He looked at the Inquisitor and then at Cullen, then the others. “Went that bad, huh?” 

“Yes,” Cassandra sighed.

“Where’s Chuckles? Did you find him?” Varric noted the exchanged looks and he closed his eyes. “Even him, huh?”

“Even him,” Dorian murmured.

“That’s the one I wouldn’t have expected,” Varric crossed his arms, following them upstairs. 

“I don’t think any of us wanted to truly believe that he was capable of all this,” Cassandra said quietly. “Of course, we won’t know the extent of that until the Inquisitor is coherent.”

“Son of a bitch,” Varric sighed. 

 

 

 

Cullen awoke the next morning in the armchair by Eckona’s window. He was not startled by that until he sat up and saw that her bed was empty. Instantly, he was up, grabbing his sword and dodging into the hallway. He threw open doors, waking or disturbing the rest. Sera had not slept at all. She was sitting with Cole in his room but neither of them knew where she was. 

Cassandra was gone too. 

Cullen took a deep breath. It’s not like they would have vanished or run. This was the Winter Palace. Where was the most logical place for Eckona to be? Possibly with Cassandra?

He turned on his heel and hurried to the Council chambers.

He arrived in time for Eckona to slap down the writ from Divine Justinia. Her sleeve was folded and pinned to her jacket. If there had been questions about her arm, he must have missed them. He spotted Cassandra standing against the back wall, arms folded. 

He started towards the Seeker just as Eckona declared that the Inquisition would be disbanded. He froze, turning to stare at her. 

“It has been an honor,” was all she closed with and the former-Inquisitor turned and walked away. 

Cassandra peeled away from the wall. Cullen followed her.

The Seeker stood outside, waiting until Eckona appeared and then turning to fall in step with her. “Are you all right?”

Eckona nodded. “Yes….I think I’ll feel better now not having to worry about all this anymore.”

“You will turn our attention to Solas?”

Eckona looked at her, startled.

“You are still my friend,” Cassandra told her. “Even if no one else stands beside you, I will.”

Eckona swallowed hard, looking down and then back up at Cassandra. “Thank you.”

“You know that we may have to fight him.”

“Yes. But if anyone can save…our friend from himself…it is us.”

“Skyhold will feel very empty soon, I imagine.”

“He said he had spies in the Inquisition. He said that was how he found out about Viddasala—his spies found _their_ spies.”

Cassandra opened the main gate to the Bold Horse for her. “Should we leave Skyhold then?”

She sighed. “As much as I hate to say it….yes. We should.”

Cassandra walked with her to the dining room, which was now doubling as a command center. The others were gathered already, having breakfast.

“Cullen’s looking for you,” Sera drawled.

“You came back,” Cole said faintly. “You thought a long time about leaving us.”

Eckona glanced away. “Yes. I did. But I didn’t leave.” She breathed in deeply and then looked at the assembled group. “I’ve disbanded the Inquisition. Any of you who wish to go home are free to do so. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me, for the Inquisition, for the world. You saved it. I couldn’t have done it without any of you.”

“What’re you doin then?” Sera asked, fiddling with a strip of bacon.

“Solas will kill all of us to return the world of his elves. I have to find him before that happens.”

“He told you this?” Josephine breathed, a hand touching her lips.

“Yes.” Eckona took a deep breath and told them what had happened on his side of the Eluvian.

“Well,” Dorian said, sitting down slowly. “I guess that handles _that_. I wasn’t really ready to return home, you know. I have extra hero work to be done.”

“That and if you go home, someone might try to assassinate you,” Varric told him. 

“That too.”

“You don’t have to tell me your answers now—or even later—I imagine you’ll make it known if you plan to stay. I don’t look down on anyone who wants to go home. It’s been a long and difficult road. It’s likely only going to get harder. Solas is…was….our friend. I don’t know if we can change his mind but I have to try. Things will never be the same.” She turned away, heading upstairs to her room. 

She slept the rest of the day, hoping things would seem better later. When she awoke it did, a little. At least she had a plan. That was the first step. 

On the return trip to Skyhold, she poured over maps in one of the caravans. Solas knew everything about the Inquisition. There would be no hiding from him here. 

They must go elsewhere.

“Don’t stab the maps!” Cassandra lamented, using both hands to gesture at her dagger. “Do you know how long it takes to make maps like this?”

“Sorry. I’ll have a new one made.”

“With what coin?”

Oh, that was a good point. “Well—we should lock down the armory and go through it. We can sell all the leftover weapons and armor we’ve used over time.”

“What about the library?” Cassandra asked.

Eckona sighed. That library was her pet project, her baby. “Oh, I hate to sell any of it…but I guess we can’t take it with us. We could leave it, I suppose. Maybe someone will stay there…I mean, I can’t imagine that everyone has _somewhere_ to go. I mean, I don’t. There could be others.”

“Perhaps some of the servants, their families, the Chantry sisters who no longer associate with it may stay. But with no one to defend it, I can’t imagine someone will leave Skyhold alone for long.”

“But it has no strategical value,” Cullen said. “It’s remote, near no borders and surrounded by mountains. The only reason we don’t stay is because of Solas.”

“I’d like to go through the library—as much as I can, anyway—and take some of the books,” Eckona added. “I know we’ll need to travel light to get into Tevinter unnoticed but still.”

“He could be having Tevinter’s borders watched—because of Dorian,” Cassandra put in.

“He had little but disdain for Dorian,” Cullen said, tracing the border of the northern country. “It could be he underestimates his possible role.”

“I suppose that’s true…” Eckona frowned, feeling guilty again. “Seems like he almost changed…and then didn’t.”

“You cannot take responsibility for the actions of one like him,” Cassandra replied. “He chose to change some with your influence—but then he chose to undo all of that. It is no one’s blame but his own.”

Eckona worked her dagger out of the map and then felt the whole wagon shift. “Oh—we’ve reached the incline—we must be near the gates.”

The blast of a horn heralded their arrival. Word had not yet reached Skyhold—or if it had, Leliana’s agents hadn’t made it public yet. A massive meeting was called in the main hall ( _after_ the armory and library were locked down), where she broke the news herself. 

There were mixed reactions from the crowd of merchants, mercenaries, knights and mages. Some were eager to begin their trips home, others looked pained and indicated they wished to stay and maintain the fort. The gardens were in full swing and would bear fruit and vegetables by the following season. This could become a pilgrimage. A place of peace for those who wished to live away from politics and cities and war and religion. 

She stepped off the dais to head to the war room—but was intercepted by one of Leliana’s hawkers. “My lady—we received a letter for you while you were gone.”

“Who from?” She asked, holding her hand out to take it. 

“It’s sealed with wax, my lady. And there’s some kind of magic on it. So we left it to you.”

“Thank you, Teran.” 

Letter in her right hand, she headed into the relative quiet of the war room. She stared at the envelope a long moment. It didn’t smell like metal and pepper. It wasn’t from _him_.

She broke the wax seal. When she unfolded the parchment a strange, foreign aroma wafted over her. It smelled like cloves. 

 

_Eckona:_

_By the time this letter reaches you, I will have begun my journey to meet you in Skyhold. As you likely know, our clan was slaughtered by shems outside of Wycome. By the grace of Andruil, I survived but many others did not. Arlath, Tam and Uleran are with me. Technically, I suppose I am the Keeper now—but there is no one to Keep. I would not do this if there were another way. Uleran blames you for the misfortunes of our clan but that is not a surprise to anyone (least of all, you, I imagine). Arlath is the only remaining Master (Orla was cut down by arrows and later died of her wounds). Tam is the only apprentice left—we have not marked her yet as she has insisted that you be there for it. She will chose Dirtheman, I imagine, providing you have not been swayed by the stories coming out of Skyhold that the Valleslin are slave markings. I know this is likely not the way you thought we would reunite. It certainly was not for me. However, I hope that we can put aside our differences and old hurts and attempt to reconcile during this difficult time._

_Dareth Shiral_  
_Anock_

 

She stared at the letter, reading it twice over before slowly putting it down. “Oh boy.”

Cullen lifted an eyebrow. “What is it?”

“My, uh—my brother is alive. He's alive. And he's coming here.”

“You have a brother?”

“Yes--but--I thought he'd been killed and I never heard anything from him after they were attacked. He’s a mage and was apprenticed to our Keeper. They’re all dead now. So he’s coming here with the survivors.”

“Will there be trouble?” Cullen asked carefully, noting her expression.

“I’m not sure. He’s…going to be a little surprised, I think.”

“I suppose they haven’t seen you since you left for the Conclave.”

“Yeah…”

They spent the next week going through the armory and the library. She tried to stow away far too many books and Cassandra had to come up to supervise. The remaining merchants bought up their stock of weapons and armor to take back to the capitol. The remainder of their supplies were left there for those who were choosing to remain.

So when Anock arrived, he was one of the few heading in while hundreds of others slowly made their way out. He was stopped at the gate and a runner was sent to find the Inquisitor—which many still called her, despite the disband order. 

She appeared in the yard, rotating her arm. Dagna was walking beside her, explaining the harness she had outfitted her with. It was tough leather, fastening at the front over her breasts. Straps hooked over her shoulders and behind her back. The left arm had further straps down to her elbow, which Dagna had worked studs into. 

“So, I’m thinking maybe a giant arm blade.”

“You gonna make me a sheath, too?”

“I could!”

“Dag, it will never stay on,” Eckona told her, grinning.

“Okay, what about a shaft of wood with a big hook at the end?”

“How about a hollow cylinder full of bees that come out when I hit things.”

Dagna looked thoughtful about that.

“Dag—I’m not serious!”

“Lethallan!” 

Eckona perked—no one here called her that (except Solas, after they’d first met). She glanced at the gate and stopped. “Anock…”

He barged passed the gate guard, who commanded him to _stop right now or get an arrow in the back_. The elf paused, looking back at the man in surprise.

“Anock,” she said quickly, hurrying over to him. “I—it’s all right. They’re all right, Woods. Thank you.”

Dagna peered at them. “You know these elves?”

“Yes. Um. I do. Could you please go find Cassandra?”

“Of course, Your Worship.” She flitted away.

“Your worship?” asked Anock.

She managed part of a smile. “Habit for some of them.”

Her twin brother was taller than she was. They shared the same sheen of silver in their hair. His eyes were a purer green than hers, like spring grass. They shared the sharp, slender nose. His ears were a little longer. The staff in his left hand was taller than he was. A sparkling moonstone was cupped at the end, held in place with silverite. Two dragonbones were mounted on either side. It was a powerful staff, she remembered. He looked every inch the Keeper he should have been. Here was the epitome of the Dalish mage. 

Behind him, Arlath stood with his muscled arms crossed. The shaft of his battleaxe stuck out high over his shoulder. He was bigger than Anock and much broader. He had grey eyes and his hair was dark brown, mired with dirt from the road. He had always been stern but he’d been fair. His armor was battered from use and he had a scar running down the left side of his face. 

Tam was all eyes, gazing around at the keep. She had a bow strapped to her and a quiver of enchanted arrows. She also had a staff made of cherry wood and imbued with fire. Her hair was auburn and her eyes were copper. Eckona remembered her as a vibrant young lady, eager to learn about her magic and restless when she had to sit for too long. 

Uleran was the one she didn’t want to see but there he was, a sour look on his face as he scowled at her. He had a longbow with him and two dirks crossed horizontally at the small of his back. His eyes were cool and blue, his hair was brown and tied back in a long tail. 

“Is there somewhere we might talk?” Anock asked her.

She nodded and turned, gesturing for them to follow.

“What happened to your arm?” He asked.

“It’s a long story,” she informed him as she headed into the Keep as Cassandra was just leaving. 

The warrior stopped and looked over the elves. “Dagna just stopped me. Are these your clansman?”

“Yes—we should go to the war room.”

Cassandra rested her palm on the hilt of her sword, letting the elves pass in front of her before following at their backs. 

Anock seemed more uncertain than she remembered. He was not accustomed to being left behind by her and he took extra steps to keep up. She opened the door ahead of him and walked through. 

In the closer confines of the war room, Cullen was looking at their maps. He glanced up when Eckona entered and then straightened, eyes drawn to Arlath, naturally. He touched the pommel of his sword.

“This place filled with _shems_ , then?” Uleran asked, wrinkling his nose.

“No. And if you paid the slightest bit of attention, you might know that,” Eckona told him. 

Anock stared at her.

Uleran narrowed his eyes. “I see being raised up by them has given you leave for arrogance?”

“I don’t recall needing your opinion about the people with me.”

“These people got our clan butchered—“

“Mind your words, _elf_ ,” Cassandra interrupted, low and warning. 

“Anock,” Eckona said pointedly. “This is my commander, Cullen Rutherford and my friend, Cassandra Pentaghast. They are both human warriors and I won’t have them disrespected.”

Anock glanced over at Uleran. The two exchanged looks and the ranger scowled and crossed his arms. 

Her brother then looked back at her uncertainly. “Well, I…suppose things worked out in a strange way. I was to be Keeper and you…were the Inquisitor.”

“Yes—strange world, right. If you’d gone to the Conclave instead of me, I suppose you’d be in my place right now.” She wiggled the stump of her left arm. (Well, maybe not _completely_ her place.)

“We thought you were dead. When we heard about the Conclave, we were sure that no one could have survived. When we learned that you had somehow lived…some were angry that you did not reach out to us yourself. To help your clan.”

“I did what I could.” Eckona put her hands on her hips. “I couldn’t have known it would go as badly as it did. I had no idea. And I was a little distracted at the time.”

“Our family and friends are dead,” Anock said. “Can you show no remorse or respect for their path to Falon’Din?”

“I do. I did. I mourned here.”

“Did you? Like you couldn’t wait to be rid of them?” Uleran scowled.

“Eckona—I know there is bad blood between us. I’m trying to make it right.”

“Bad blood?” Cullen asked.

“Mind your own business, _shem_ ,” Uleran told him.

“ _Don’t_ call them that,” Eckona snapped, hackles bristling. 

Uleran stared at her. “Are you joking?”

“No. I’m not.”

Anock and Uleran exchanged looks again.

“You’ve changed so much,” Tam said quietly. “I can smell so much magic on you too.” She leaned in. “Hmm, you smell like moss.”

“And citrus?” Eckona smiled.

But Tam shook her head. “No…I don’t smell citrus.”

Eckona straightened. “Really?”

“Why would you smell like magic like you do? We are the only mages in here—no one’s magic should be strong enough to scent from here. The binding—“

“Is gone.”

“Binding?” Cassandra asked.

“When you…received the mark was the binding removed somehow?” Anock asked her, slowly. 

“No…” she said, looking aside.

“Let me see it.”

“It doesn’t matter now, does it? Our clan is gone.”

“Show the Keeper your binding.” Uleran shifted, tensing as if to pounce. 

“Anock—“

Her brother grabbed her, jerking her to him and whirled her around. He pulled up the back of her shirt.

In a flash, Cullen and Cassandra had their swords drawn. 

Arlath pulled off his battleaxe and Tam grabbed onto her staff but she did not move forward.

“Release her!” Cassandra commanded.

“Now.” Cullen flicked his blade, the naked edge glinting at Anock’s jaw.

“Where is her binding!” Uleran demanded, holding Eckona by the shoulders as her brother put a flat palm on her back, as if he might still be able to feel it.

“What binding!” Cullen’s voice rose in volume.

“ _Release_ her, elf!” Cassandra started forward.

“W-Wait—Cassandra, I can explain—just, wait. Wait.”

Arlath had not yet moved, simply watching the two warriors closely while he gripped his axe. 

“Let go of my shirt, you golem.” Eckona shook Uleran off and grabbed into her shirt with her right hand, pulling it down as her brother released it. 

“Where is your binding?” he asked again.

“It’s gone!”

“That is _impossible_. No one but a Keeper could have removed the binding.”

“I—a powerful mage removed it!” Eckona snapped. “Not that you’d care so much—but the elven mage Solas removed it.”

“The _apostate_!” Uleran’s lip curled, like he smelled something rotten. “We heard of him—the Fade-mage. He allowed spirits to possess him freely. He was corrupt—“

“Oh, that is stupid! Shut _up_ , Uleran!”

“Where is this elf? Who was he that he could remove a mage-binding? Who was he that he felt it was _his_ place to do so!” Anock demanded.

"He only offered, Anock! I _let_ him remove the binding!" She spit at him, defiantly. "What are you going to do, Keeper? Have Arlath hold me down so you can rebind me?"

"And if I did?"

"Then I guess we'd find out just how good I've become with magic."

Tam held up her hands. "Don't fight--please. Now isn't the time."

Anock sighed deeply. "Fine--but all the same. Where _is_ this mage?"

“He’s gone. He left us.”

Anock shook his head. “How could you let a rogue elven Apostate who wasn’t even _Dalish_ \--“

“Did he remove your _Vallaslin_ as well?” Tam said suddenly. 

Anock grabbed her again, pulling her hair to the side. “How—why-- _why!_ ”

“Anock—“

“Why would you do this!”

“What are they talking about!” Cassandra demanded. “I am losing patience with the guessing.”

Eckona jerked away from Anock, stumbling, as she didn’t have her left arm for balance. Arlath reached out to stop her falling but did not move otherwise. She drew back from them. “I had a tattoo on my back and my face. Do you remember them?”

“Yes,” Cassandra said.

“I never saw the back one,” Cullen said.

“Well, you—er—you wouldn’t have.” Eckona shook herself. “Okay, so it’s superstition—“

“ _Superstition?_ ” Anock gaped at her. “Are you too good now for quaint Dalish _superstition_?”

“No! Dammit, Anock, I’m trying to explain! I just don’t hold with what can’t be proven anymore!” She looked at Cassandra and Cullen. “Anock and I are twins. We were born on the same day, same time—as twins are, you know. Among the elven pantheon, there were Falon’Din and Dirthamen. God of the Dead and the God of Secrets and Knowledge. They were as twins too. They were so completely tied together that some of the stories don’t even call them by their own names. Falon’Din was _Dirthamen’s shadow_ and Dirthamen was _Falon’Din’s Reflection_. The legend is that they were the only set of twins who could be separate and still keep their minds. Twins are supposedly one soul, split apart. So if both twins show signs of magical ability, one is always bound to contain their magic. Because if one soul has twice the magic--ugh--I dunno, the mountains crack and the world is doomed or whatever. I was the one that was bound. The bound one is supposed to represent Falon’Din. Anock, who represented Dirthamen, was chosen to apprentice the Keeper—as a symbolic keeper of secrets and knowledge, which is what Keepers are supposed to emulate.”

“And the bound one?” Cullen asked.

“To serve as reminder to guard against pride and treason. With my magic bound, I could never be a threat to him or anyone else. In theory, I'm supposed to be his protector. But because the legend is that no one could emulate the incredible bond that Dirth and Falon had, there is always presumed to be a noble twin and a not-noble twin. Because mortals are fallible, you raise one up and keep the other back and, I guess, hope that you got the right one. The legends are told differently depending on the clan and are believed to a different extent, depending on your clan. But most all of them I’ve met have similar attitudes about twins. They’re unnatural. Removing the binding is…it brands me like a traitor to them. Turning my back on the elves and disrespecting the elven gods and their bond.”

“Can it be so easily removed?” Cassandra asked.

“No. They’re right—it should have been impossible for Solas to remove it. But he did. Because, well…ha, that’s what Solas did, right?” She smiled faintly, looking at the ground. “He saw what he wanted done and he did it. Things like _impossibility_ didn’t mean a whole lot to Fen’Harel.”

“Fen’Harel!” Tam burst out, eyes nearly falling out of her head. 

Even Arlath did a double-take.

Eckona took a deep breath. “We’ve got a lot to discuss. Sit down.”


	17. Clear the Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That was very rude,” Dorian told both of them, sounding affronted. “I have never met an elf I didn’t like.” He paused. “Well, I have. But I found them all to be lithe and clever. Except for that one lad—who was he—the one who contacted us when Bull’s Chargers were supposed to help the Dreadnought? Terrible haircut, that one. Just terrible. Apparently, no one told him that mullets look awful on _everyone_.”

Anock took a deep breath, staring at his sister. “If we still had a clan, they’d disown you for letting him remove the binding.” He shook his head. “But then—how often have clans run into demi-gods? Or…the spirits of gods who inhabit mortal forms?”

“They’re not gods at all. They were ancient elves. Solas was in sleep for a millennium after he created the Veil.”

Anock seemed to be having trouble swallowing this. He looked at Tam. “You…we were going to mark you at your next name day…”

Tam’s copper eyes were thoughtful. “Well….I suppose I should wait. I mean—if he’s Fen’Harel how do we know we can trust what he says?”

Eckona looked aside. “He….he and I were…close.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Uleran said.

“Not by itself, no,” Eckona agreed. “But…what we found in the temple confirmed it. Now that the mark is gone, I may be able to enter the Fade now through Dreaming and try to find the truth. But…I suspect he wasn’t lying.”

“But how do you know?” Anock pressed.

“The thing about Solas is that he never told a blatant lie. His lies were all half-truths. He was very careful—he had to be because of Cole. But the best way to lie is to tell as much of the truth as you can. The rest is a lie by omission.”

The door to the war room opened and Sera breezed in. “Hey, Quizzers, the—“ she paused. “Who the hell are all these elves?”

“Sera—this is my brother Anock and this is Tam, Arlath and Uleran.”

“Oh, more elfy elves?” Sera rolled her eyes but smiling good-naturedly.

“No, Sera—“

“Where are you from? Some alienage slum in a _shem_ city?” Uleran interrupted.

“I wouldn’t, Uleran—“

“Where are you from? Stuck up your own arse?” The good-natured look vanished.

Tam choked, struggling to turn it into a cough in her fist.

“Excuse me, flat-ear?”

“Is it hot up inside there?” Sera made a V with two of her fingers and pressed over her mouth, sticking her tongue out between them.

Tam couldn’t hold it in this time. She burst out laughing.

Uleran looked scandalized.

“Just leave her alone, Uleran,” Eckona warned, putting a hand over her mouth to hide her smile. 

“You really don’t know what you’re getting into,” Cullen added.

Sera looked hugely satisfied at that. “Yeah, best listen to your betters. You don’t want me as your enemy.”

“Well!” Eckona interrupted before Uleran could respond. “It’s been a long day. You’ve had a tough journey. How about you get some sleep? We’re still a week or so out from leaving Skyhold.”

“Where are you going after this?” Anock asked her.

“Tevinter, so it’s up to you whether or not you want to follow.”

Anock looked uncertain. That was so strange. He seemed so much more out of his depth than she remembered. But then again, when she’d been with the clan…she was his protector. She’d had almost no authority of her own. Seeing her like this was probably just as foreign to him as it was to her.

“I’ve never been to Tevinter,” Tam spoke eagerly. “Could I come?”

Eckona nodded. “It’s fine with me.”

“You can’t make that decision,” Uleran reminded her.

Eckona rolled her eyes. “You can’t either, you ass. She’s an adult. It’s not like you can force her to stay in a four-person clan.”

“Five,” Anock said, looking at her reproachfully.

“No—like you said—if they knew I’d had my binding removed I’d have been disowned.”

“This would be best continued in the morning,” Cassandra said, standing up, fingers resting on her sword hilt. “Come. I will show you to where you can sleep.”

Anock looked at Eckona, searching her bare face for something. When he apparently did not see what he looked for, he stood up. “Thank you,” he said quietly to Cassandra. “I apologize for the earlier hostility. We were…surprised.”

Cassandra inclined her head. “I understand. Thank you. This way, please.”

Uleran stood, crossing his arms. Tam stood, nodding a little to Cullen, who quickly stood to nod to her. The three elves filed out of the room. 

Arlath stood slower. He’d been totally silent since they’d arrived. He looked at Eckona for a long moment and then nodded to her. “It is…good to see you again, Lethallan. Do not mind Anock. He has found himself less than he expected without you.” The warrior inclined his head to Cullen and Cassandra. “Thank you, fierce warriors, for looking after Hunter Eckona.” And then he turned and walked out.

“An elf of few words,” Cassandra mused before heading out to lead them to quarters.

“That one with the axe, Arlath, you said his name was?” Cullen asked.

“Yes. Arlath was one of our warriors—he often hunted with me. I learned a lot from him. I’m glad he lived.”

“And your brother?”

“He’s not a bad man. I was just bound when we were very young. He was accustomed to me basically having to do whatever he wanted. He loves me, in his own way but for him to see me, well, _respected_ …is strange for him.”

“Uleran?”

“He's an asshole. He was my trainer when I was told I would be a hunter instead of a mage. We didn't really get along.”

Beside them, Sera grinned. “Please tell me I can make him miserable.”

Eckona couldn’t fight a grin. “Sera, I can’t believe I _didn’t_ just hear you _ask_ me that. Goodness, what were you saying? Something about _eclairs_ this late at night.”

“Wait, wha--- _oh_. Yeah. I’m with it. Yeah. Those eclairs, Ecky. Ask for forgiveness later.”

“Try to contain yourself around the other three though. They don’t seem so bad,” Cullen tacked on. “How old is the girl?”

“Tam? Well, usually someone her age would be marked already. Guess she dodged an arrow on that one. She’s likely…well, it’s been more than three years since I’ve seen them. So she’s about four and twenty now. Elves are usually marked at twenty-one but after I became Inquisitor—she wanted to wait until I could be there.”

“She another mage-y one, like you?” Sera asked Eckona but she was eyeing Cullen.

“Yes—but she trained with a bow too. She’s very practical.” Eckona tilted her head at Sera and then looked at Cullen. “What? Why are you glaring at Cullen?”

“Does she like girls, do you think?” Sera asked. 

Eckona sputtered, not expecting _that_. “Wha—I don’t know! It never came up. You’ll have to ask her. But let her get used to not having to obey my brother first. The clans can be particular about that sort of thing, since clans are so small. They like it when we procreate. Elves who like the same gender are often asked to keep that to themselves.”

“Pissers,” Sera scowled.

“Yeah, I know. It’s stupid but—it’s just an unfortunate reality. Besides, what about Dagna?”

“Well, I mean—she’s leaving. You know? We can’t pay her anymore. She wants to keep studying. She accepted an invite to the University in Val Royeaux.”

Eckona started. “Oh, Sera….I’m so sorry…”

Sera huffed. “Why? It’s nothing. The whole thing was stupid. I shoulda known. I mean, ugh.”

“C’mon, Sera. Let’s find Dorian and we’ll get you a drink.”

Sera grumbled but she turned away.

Cullen reached out and touched her shoulder. “Eckona—a moment, before you leave.”

Sera slid out of the room, leaving Eckona and Cullen alone.

“Eckona—about what happened in Halamshiral and with Solas…”

She looked down. “Cullen…”

“I know there's no stopping you from finding him now. This was all just insult to injury and now he's taken your arm. I only fear that next time, he won't stop there.”

She looked up at Cullen. “If there's a next time--he won't be able to.“

"I hope you're right. It will be difficult. I wish I could urge you not to look for him--but I know it would never happen. You need closure, even if it means that he'll die.”

"At least if he does die, I would rather that I be the one to do it. I won't be able to move on until this is done with once and for all."

"I know we...took comfort in each other in Halamshiral--but us being friends...that hasn't changed. Whatever I can do, I will."

She studied Cullen’s face but found only sincerity. “Thank you, Cullen,” she breathed. “It’s nice when there’s still someone around who will be honest with me.”

“I will. Sera always will. Dorian probably will. Cassandra will make you cry.”

“Is that from personal experience?”

“Possibly. Cassandra is very tough, you know. And has a surprisingly sharp wit when you get her angry enough.”

“Don’t let her hear you say that.”

“Never.” And Cullen smiled. It was a real, genuine smile. “Now—let’s find Dorian and get Sera a drink. She looked like she could use it. It’s weird, but I actually feel a little sorry for her.”

“It’s probably really tough for her to let her guard down. I didn’t know that Dagna was planning to leave. She didn’t tell me.” 

She and Cullen walked out of the room. Sera was just reentering the hall with Dorian. She waved them down. 

 

 

 

Two hours later, they were all in the tavern. Varric had given up on trying to get through a round of Wicked Grace. Sera was very drunk, dancing and jumping on the table and doing backflips off the support beams. Then jumping on Bull’s back and demanding he give her a ride. 

Everyone else was laughing at the display, which Bull did not seem to mind at all. Cullen had relaxed greatly now that they’d cleared the air and when Tam entered the tavern, looking uncertain, he raised a hand and waved her over.

“Sorry to intrude,” she said, fiddling with gloves. “I just…didn’t want to sleep. And your honored guard told me you might be here.” She inclined her head to Cassandra.

“Sit, Tam. Don’t be shy. Some of the others wanted to meet you.”

“My dear love,” Dorian drawled to her. “Meeting a member of Eckona’s clan that actually has dignity and class is certainly a rare and enticing prospect.”

Eckona threw an olive at him, grinning. “Don’t mind this Vint,” she said to Tam. “He’s half-way down a bottle of Royeaux Harbor.”

“And he likes men,” Bull informed her, as if he felt the need to reassure her that Dorian's drunken flirtations were harmless.

“That was very rude,” Dorian told both of them, sounding affronted. “I have never met an elf I didn’t like.” He paused. “Well, I have. But I found them all to be lithe and clever. Except for that one lad—who was he—the one who contacted us when Bull’s Chargers were supposed to help the Dreadnought? Terrible haircut, that one. Just terrible. Apparently, no one told him that mullets look awful on _everyone_.”

Tam chuckled, grinning. “Your friends are certainly lively, lethallan.”

“Just call me Eckona. And yes, they are. You should have seen them when Leliana was here. She played the role of mysterious spymaster but she quietly encouraged everyone to act this way.”

“Double, really,” Cullen said. “She was hoping for blackmail opportunities.”

“Did she get them?” Tam asked.

“Yes, on more than one occasion,” Cullen grumbled, scowling. 

“Seriously—Cullen here is the best chess player I’ve ever met. But he loses spectacularly at cards _every_ time. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“That’s what I keep saying! I swear, they rig the cards against me each time.”

Cole appeared, seeming to pop right out of the air. Tam jumped in her chair, grabbing onto the table.

“And, this is Cole,” Eckona said, gesturing to him. “Prepare yourself.”

“For what?” Tam asked uncertainly.

“Give him a minute,” Cullen advised, sliding a mug of ale over to the elf.

Cole looked at everyone, smiling faintly until he saw Tam. New to him but with his friends. He tilted his head at her. 

“Hello,” she said. “I’m…Tam.”

“Tam,” Cole repeated. And then, “Oh, no. No. I can see the torches burning in the darkness. I am frozen, caught. Flashing flickers of frightening light. Fighting in the dark. Ellana, there’s so much blood! Their knives hold Keeper close and up and down and up and down like arcs of lightening. So much blood—the children are crying. I—I can’t move. I can’t move. _I’m scared_. Arlath—Arlath, I’m so—“ and then the emotion cut out of his voice, switching back to narrating, “--he’s picking me up and carrying me away. Are my legs broken? Why couldn’t I move? I could have _saved_ Johna and Elti. I could have.” 

Tam had gone very pale, staring at him. “H-how did you…”

Eckona touched her shoulder. “This is Cole’s ability. He can read minds. He will often tell you your own thoughts. It’s best to just rip it off, like a bandage. We’re all used to it.” _It must be the attack from Wycome…_

“He’s the spirit, isn’t he?”

“Yes, Compassion.”

Cole rocked back and forth a bit. “You did what you could. If you’d tried to save Johna and Elti, you would have died too.”

Tam’s gaze slowly lowered to the table.

“Drink up,” Eckona told her, patting her on the back and urging the glass of beer closer to her. 

 

 

 

The next morning, Cassandra went down into the main hall. A small breakfast had been laid by the sole cook who remained. She adjusted her sword and filled a plate with fruit and sausages and bread. She stayed standing, laying down a map on a bare section of table next to her. She ate as she examined it. The most likely spot to cross the Tevinter border would be in the northeast. Tevinter’s relations weren’t much good with any nation around it—but it was more on edge with Orlais than Fereldan. If they headed into the mountain passes, they may be able to scoot by some of the border towns without being seen much. They’d need that to get into central Tevinter. It was likely that the Imperium wouldn’t much appreciate former-Inquisition roaming through their lands even if they were unaffiliated with the Chantry and Orlais.

Cassandra picked up a grape and bit into it and then became aware of something. A shift in the air, a change in the space around her. She looked up.

Arlath, the elvish warrior, was standing on the other side of the table. His arms were crossed as he examined the map also. Like Cassandra, he came to breakfast armed, the shaft of his axe sticking up like a maypole. 

“Good morning,” she said, a little terse.

He nodded, opened his mouth and then closed it. He examined the map for another long moment, then said, “Lady Eckona says you plan to go into Tevinter to find Fen’Harel.”

“We do not know that he is in Tevinter. But it is the only place where we might establish a base of operations that he does not know about.”

Arlath frowned at the map some more. “It will be difficult to cross the border. We will stick out among the Vints.”

Cassandra peered at him a moment. He didn’t seem as bothered as Anock and Uleran about helping them. “Yes. We have forged papers in the works that declare the Inquisitor as a servant from Nevarra. The others are slower in coming. I thought that perhaps we might cross in teams so that we are not all seen together but I do not want to risk being separated by hundreds of miles if something goes wrong.”

Arlath frowned at the map with Cassandra. “What about as a mercenary company? You already have one of some renowned. The Iron Bull and his chargers.” 

“Either as part of his team or as two separate teams traveling together for protection? If we could produce a contract from a Tevinter noble, it would likely allow us to cross in one of the smaller areas and not have to risk the mountains.”

Arlath nodded silently. Cassandra chewed the inside of her cheek. “I will ask Iron Bull and Dorian about such a thing. Thank you, Master Arlath.”

Arlath sat down to put a plate together. Cassandra sat down as well. The two warriors ate in silence. When she finished, Cassandra stood and rolled up the map. “If you desire, we have a practice area in the northwest corner of the grounds.”

Arlath looked at her and nodded. “Thank you, Master Cassandra.”

Cassandra nodded back and turned to go.


	18. To the Bold Dancers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What about Iron Bull? You think he’s into puns?” Varric asked as they started to walk again.
> 
> “Wouldn’t it just be ‘bullshit’ for him?”
> 
> “Oh, haha, you’re right.” Varric grinned at her, pointing two thick fingers at her.
> 
> “Yes, we all see what you did there!” Dorian said, loudly. “Now, stop! No more puns!”

“I’m not saying he’s malleable. I’m saying, he’s capable of change,” Varric clarified.

“Cole presented as more of a spirit though?”

“Yes, doing what he’s always done. But he made himself real. He is, for all intents and purposes, human. Chuckles urged him to stay a spirit—which, fine. Cole didn’t really seem to know what he wanted—he just didn’t want to be bound by blood mages. We guided him to stay a spirit. He may start doing more human things on his own if he decides he’s ready to grow as a human.”

Eckona looked thoughtful. “I hadn’t thought of it like that. I suppose we can’t…keep him the same forever.”

“And I’m gonna go ahead and state the unpopular opinion here that Solas wanted him to stay a spirit because he knows he’s going to try to kill all of us. So Cole will be the one he can’t kill. Because he likes spirits more than people.”

Eckona’s shoulders stiffened. “Varric—even he couldn’t—“

“He couldn’t?” Varric asked her, lifting a thick eyebrow. “You know he was lying to you. He took your arm to save your life until he comes to _cleanse_ all of us. Like a plague or something. And Cole would be the only one capable of forgiving when he rips the Veil down. Not saying Cole _would_ but he can see into his head. It might be the only solace that Chuckles will get.”

“So, you’re saying that….Solas manipulated Cole to stay a spirit….for his own sake. Not for Cole’s?”

Varric shifted a little and sighed. “It’s possible. I know you don’t wanna think that. But it is possible. Chuckles saw a spirit, so he didn’t want Cole to branch out into something Chuckles didn’t like—people. And he knew he was eventually planning to murder the world anyway. He guided Cole into staying a spirit. But Cole made himself real. Without Solas around—he may decide he wants to pursue that instead.”

Eckona sighed. 

“I know you want to protect the kid. It’s weird…for all of us. He has innocence as a spirit. But every person has to go out and find himself at some point, right? You—we—can’t protect him forever. He’ll live even if we die. We’re his friends. Before we die, we should show him how to live as a human in case he ever does make the choice.”

“I suppose that’s true….,” Eckona said, fretfully pulling at the harness on her left stump. “I hate to think of Solas doing something like that but…I…I guess it can’t really be discounted.”

Varric nodded. “I’m sorry for that.” Then he sighed. “Well, look—that’s not the only reason I came to talk to you, okay? It doesn’t all have to be bad. I got in touch with my friend, the smith, Bianca and Dagna, they trying to enchant a gauntlet for you to wear on your left arm. Knight Enchanters can create blades from their will, right? So that should be able to be used in other shapes. Even if it was just for a few seconds—being able to conjure a useable hand might be…..well. Handy.” He cringed.

Eckona burst out laughing.

“I’m sorry. That wasn’t intentional. My shame is deep and penetrating.”

“Boy, it’s like you’re a little _short_ -sighted or something.”

“Ha-ha,” Varric said dryly before chuckling himself.

“Handy. Haha, that was a good one, Varric. You’ll have to—“

The door opened to the rotunda and Dorian sashayed in. “Hallo, Fearless Leader—I have word from my contact in Minrathos. It’s a contract for two mercenary companies. One for Iron Bull and one for you.”

Eckona took the parchment. “The Bold Dancers? _That’s_ our mercenary name?”

Dorian looked wounded. “I spent several long hours with wine and excellent food that I did not pay for coming up with that name.”

“Yeah, I bet you did.” She folded it. “All right. Thank you. I suppose now we get everyone together and discuss the plan.”

“And come up with more puns.”

Eckona paused mid-stride, looking down.

“What?” asked Dorian.

She blew a raspberry. “Tried to come up with some clever pun for that—but nothing came to me. But now, even if I did—the moment has passed and the timing is all off. Ah well.”

“Time is punny like that.”

Eckona turned her head slowly to mock-glare at Varric. 

“No. Stop. Stop it,” Dorian told them. “There will be no puns here!”

“What about Iron Bull? You think he’s into puns?” Varric asked as they started to walk again.

“Wouldn’t it just be ‘bullshit’ for him?”

“Oh, haha, you’re right.” Varric grinned at her, pointing two thick fingers at her.

“Yes, we all see what you did there!” Dorian said loudly. “Now, stop! No more puns!”

 

 

In the main keep, the few of her band who remained came for dinner. Even Blackwall came. He kept to himself these days, for obvious reasons. He hadn’t come to sit with the rest of them in a very long time. He still didn’t say much but he was, at least, seen by the others. Sera didn’t treat him any differently. Cassandra still wouldn’t speak to him. The others were all somewhere inbetween. 

Tam wandered up to sit with the group. Anock and Uleran were in the library. Arlath was beating the stuffing out of Cassandra’s training dummies.

They pulled a table over the walkway so Eckona could climb up. She sat on the table, looking at the others with her back to the dais. “All right. We have word, finally. Dorian has a contact in Minrathos. Through him, we have a contract as a mercenary group. Iron Bull has a separate contract but we’ll be traveling close together. Having the contract from a Tevinter noble should allow us to cross into Tevinter at one of the smaller border towns. Otherwise, we’ll be up in the mountains for weeks. Summer is ending and snows will start in Tevinter soon. We can’t afford to be in the mountains until spring.”

She held out the second contract, which Bull and Krem came up to examine.

“So—we’re going to mascaraed as a mercenary troop?” Sera asked. “What’s our name?”

Eckona sighed. “We are…the Bold Dancers—“

Iron Bull burst out laughing. 

“HA!” Sera barked out. “What?”

“I didn’t pick the name, okay. Dorian did.”

“How drunk _were_ you?”

“Far less than I am right now.”

“You know how hard it’s going to be, presenting that name as scary and serious? We _are_ the Bold Dancers,” Eckona laughed. “Anyway—we all have aliases, which I’m going to assume Dorian _also_ took upon himself to make up. As I appear to be….Lady Snowblade of Eiranor—where the hell is that?”

“I don’t know. I made it up. I told you I was drunk. But in Elvish, _eir_ is snow and _anor_ means land.”

“What’s mine!” Sera demanded.

“Sharps…the…Arrow Blooder?”

Sera paused and then nodded. “I like it.”

“Thank you!” Dorian said loudly.

“So anyway—we’ll travel to the border and hopefully be able to cross together. If I’m carrying the contract—“

“Oh no,” said Dorian. “You are not in charge of the Bold Dancers.”

“Oh really? So who is?”

“Someone who’s _not_ likely to have had her likeness painted all over so that they’d know what you looked like if you ever came. So that they could kill you.”

Eckona huffed. “All right. That’s fair. So who did you tell them the leader would be?”

“Varric, naturally. Of course, his new name is the far more dashing, Hook Diamond-Basher. Or just _The_ Hook Diamond. Varric has a civil tongue and knows much about the wealthy and the underbelly. I thought it a good fit. And he’s a dwarf above ground, that in and of itself makes him unusual. It will take attention off of everyone else. We’ll robe Eckona up all mysterious-like and tell them you’re our Fade-Keeper.”

“What is that?”

“Fade-Keepers are the new Rift mages, who studied the Breach. Fortunately, you studied some of that with Solas so it won’t _really_ be a lie. Tevinter just likes to use its own names for things.”

“You know, I actually kind of like Hook Diamond. Maybe a character for my next book, eh?”

“Remember where credit is due, in that case.”

“I guess that’s for the best, actually,” Eckona said, waving her stump at him. “No one’s likely to believe a one-armed archer as leader of mercenaries.”

“Yes, it was a good thing you began learning your magic when you did.”

“Yes. I could use only a little when I first began training with him,” she said, looking down at her mug of mead. “No one among the Dalish could help me try to work around the binding—for traditional reasons—but Solas did.” She smiled softly at her mug again. “And when he figured out what the mark actually was—the binding—he found a way to remove it. It’s blood writing—very similar to the _Vallaslin_. Only a Keeper should have been able to remove it. So if I’d gone to another clan and somehow begged a Keeper to remove it—my clan would have disowned me. Disrespecting the Gods or whatever.”

“Ugh,” Sera grunted.

“You didn’t just _tell_ Solas what it was?” Blackwall asked.

“Well…I….no. I didn’t. Honestly—I was…I figured he’d…well…”

“Be Solas about it,” Dorian said, consolingly.

She sighed. “Yes. I was a little sensitive about it. Because Dalish, of course, know what the binding means. And would know that…I was the…servant, basically. The one that the Keeper thought wouldn’t have superior skill. And Solas was so…disdainful sometimes…of the Dalish.”

“How do they choose?” Sera asked. “Flip a fucking coin?”

“Pretty much. I mean, they pretend it’s about who appears to have more talent or something—or whichever one manifests magic first but…seems like more often than not—it’s the prettier one or the male one or…things like that. So I just—never told him. The first time he saw it—“

“Heh, heh. When was _that_ I wonder?” Dorian asked.

“Shut up, Dorian.”

“How _did_ you meet him?” Tam asked gently. “I mean…you seem to have really….been close to him.”

“At the Breach—Cassandra took me to meet him—hoping that I could close a large rift there. He was…” She bit her upper lip. “He was very kind to me.”

“Then what happened?” Tam asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Well…how did you….” Tam gestured into the air, as if that would help. “How did you….fall for him?”

Eckona reached out and poured herself more ale. “I…don’t really know. He was…weird. But he was kind. He…”

“Heh, she says she doesn’t know?” Dorian mused. “Please, even _I_ cottoned on—when Haven was destroyed.”

“It started sooner,” Cole spoke up. 

“Guys. Stop it,” Eckona said, chuckling and shaking her head. She downed half her mug and immediately poured more from Bull’s flask instead. It hit her like a brick, making things numb and warm and fuzzy.

“Tell me, please!” Tam urged. “Come on! There was _all_ kinds of speculation when we first heard you might be passing time with a strange elf.”

Eckona groaned.

“What was it that struck you the most when you met him? Your favorite thing?” Tam persisted.

“Hah, my favorite thing…” Eckona leaned on right elbow, sucking down a long draught of ale. “ All right. It had to be---my first impression of him versus who he actually was.”

“Was it that different?” Sera exclaimed, stealing a drink from Bull’s huge mug and then shaking her face out.

She took another deep pull from her mug and then inhaled fast on Dorian’s hash pipe. “Oh god, it was. So fucking different. Okay, when I met him, I was so certain he was going to be the snobbish, asshole elf who just sits around taking himself _way_ too fucking seriously and just kind of being an all-around fuckwagon.”

“Wait a second….” Dorian mused.

Eckona leaned over the table, laughing. It took her several moments to get ahold of herself. Varric took a deep pull from Dorian’s pipe and almost choked. “Holy shit—that is _not_ tobacco.”

“Begone, tiny troll man. Steal your own pipe!” Dorian commanded, grinning.

“Keep going!” Tam told her.

“Oh right—so I thought he would be a total nug, right? So, I was being a smartass, I kind of made a suggestive comment.”

“No way! Not you, boss!” Bull grinned.

“Shut up! Ha—he said I was graceful in how I must have learned to _flick_ my daggers and shoot arrows and such—you know, all fucking poetic like he did---“

Sera’s face planted into the table, laughing so hard her face was turning red--mostly from the drinking.

“—and I said to him, ‘oh, you think I’m graceful?’ And I’m thinking, ha-haaa, nug! He’ll be all shy and embarrassed.” She took a deep pull from her pipe. “Nope!” Her voice cracked over the pipe smoke. “He came back so smooth, I just stood there like a fucking fish with my mouth open. I was like: Wait! Wait—what the fuck—what is _happening_ right now? I mean, how do you just come at someone with something like: _no,_ ” she imitated his voice, “ _I am declaring it. It was not up for debate._ How the hell do you just _throw_ that at somebody! And then when we talked about the _Dalish_. Oh shit. He got me again. He was saying how he can at least agree that the Dalish have an indomitable spirit. And I said, thinking I was gonna be fucking funny: _Indomitable?_ And he says: _Well, I have yet to see it dominated. I imagine the sight would be…fascinating._ ”

Cassandra’s mouth fell open. “Are you _serious_?”

“Holy shit!” Varric exclaimed.

Cullen was shaking his head at her, mouth hanging open. “I cannot believe that!”

“I swear to you—I swear it on the fucking Temple of Sacred ashes--”

“Oh! Too soon!” Dorian called.

“—that is what he said.”

“ _Wow_ ,” Bull laughed.

“There was no chance of escape at that point,” Eckona told them, finishing off her mug. Bull helpfully poured her another from his flask, seeing how she appeared to need it. “I stood there immediately thinking of all the kinky places my mind just went and he fucking _knew it_. That asshole,” she finished fondly. She leaned on her right palm a bit and sighed. “I miss him. I miss him so much sometimes,” she admitted softly, still smiling—though less brightly.

“What will you do if he does come back?” Cassandra asked.

“No, don’t say that. I was happily oblivious until she started mooning around the place,” Sera grumbled.

“Oh, I was not!”

“You definitely were. I didn’t realize until after Redcliffe.”

“I think I was probably the first to notice,” said Varric, pointing his fork at her.

“Whaaaat?” Sera drawled. “Yeah right.”

“No, I’m serious.”

“Okay—when did you first notice, Varric?” Cassandra asked.

“Oh shit—when did I know?” Varric laughed. “When we ran into the Dalish girl—Mihris? Mihris—she was looking for an artifact that Chuckles was looking for. We met up with her, go inside, the way is blocked. She notices that Chuckles is a mage and says, _hey flat-ear, do your thing_ and I was standing behind Eckona. And I saw her take the slowest, most deliberate head turn and I think her eyes were literally fire. Not even fire, just fucking lava.”

Eckona leaned on Iron Bull, giggling into her mug and coughing on the harsh ale.

“I thought she was going to go to her and slap the shit out of her! She had this look on her face, like-- _I’m gonna kill this bitch. What did you say about my friend? I will slap you so hard the tips of your ears will meet at the back of your head_ ” 

“He’s not far wrong,” Eckona managed, holding her chest as she laughed. “That’s pretty much what I was thinking.”

The door from the kitchens opened and Josephine came in.

“Josephine! Do come sit with us!” Dorian jumped up to pull out a chair for her. “What is that you’re carrying?”

“I know that this will be one of the last nights for a long time that we might have….well….a home-cooked meal.”

“Eh oh, she’s sounding serious,” Cullen chuckled.

“I have made a _lasagna_.”

Eckona stood up, pushing candles aside. “What is _lasagna_?”

“It is an Antivan specialty. Thick with cheese, pasta and tomato, basil and garlic.” She set down the heavy pan and took off the cover.

“Andraste’s shit. You can _cook_ too?” Eckona threw her hands up. “UGH. I feel so inadequate.” She flopped down in her chair again. 

“Here, this will help.” Dorian handed her his pipe again. 

Josephine cut out hunks of the delicious _lasagna_ for everyone. 

Eckona took the opportunity to change the subject. “Do you remember when I sent Leliana that Scout Ritts. The one that was screwing a mage?”

“The one in the Hinterlands!?” Sera cried out, kicking her feet against Blackwall’s chair, laughing.

“I did not hear the end of that for weeks!” Cassandra groaned. 

“Leliana was so annoyed—hahahah---I remember, she said, _I don’t care if she can seduce a mage._ And I knew that. I just thought it was really funny. I thought she was gonna kill me. But that girl was actually kind of fucking scary. Her girlfriend had just been fucking murdered by Templars. And so she was fighting for her life. But when I walked up after saving her—she was stone cold. Almost no reaction to her lover being just killed. It was kind of spooky. I was like, Leliana, this girl might be a sociopath! They’re great at spying! I wonder what ever happened to Ritts.”

Arlath came in through the main doors. He was quiet about it, so no one noticed at first. He took off his helm. He was sweaty, walking towards them and lingering until Josephine saw him.

“Oh, Lord Arlath, please sit with us. I have made _Lasagna_.”

His steady eyes flickered over the table and then he nodded. He sat at the edge of the group, near Cassandra.

“You discovered the practice area,” Cassandra guessed.

“I did. Thank you for allowing me to use it, Master Pentaghast.”

Cassandra nodded to him. 

“That battleaxe,” Bull said. “Is that pyrophite?”

“It is,” he confirmed.

“Didn’t know the Dalish worked with pyrophite.”

“They typically don’t,” he said quietly. “So I made it myself.”

“You are a smith?” Cassandra asked, surprised, as she pulled a plate over and put lasagna on it before pushing it to him.

“Not officially,” he said, eyes following the hot food curiously. “I do know some of the craft, however.” Cassandra offered him a clean fork. He took it gently, nodding his thanks to her.

“Well, you know more than enough if you made it yourself and it didn’t fall apart the first time you hit something.” Bull said, sounding approving. 

“Do you plan to come with us?” Blackwall asked. “The four of you?”

Arlath looked at Tam. “I had planned to.”

“What about Anock?” Eckona asked quietly.

“He doesn’t know what to do without a clan to Keep. His role has been defined since he was a child. Now, it is gone. If he wishes to redefine himself, he’ll come with us. If not—then he will have to find another clan to take him in. Uleran will follow him.”

“I’m coming,” said Tam. “I want to see Tevinter. It’ll be nice to have a purpose.”

“You have purpose, Tam,” Arlath said quietly. “You are yourself. But you can add to it.”

Tam smiled a little. “Thank you, _hahren_.”

He didn’t respond to that. He took a bite of the lasagna and blinked. 

“Do you…like it, Lord Arlath?” Josephine asked uncertainly.

He glanced up at her. “Yes, Lady Josephine—it is…very good. Warm and…”

“ _Comfort food_ is the term you’re looking for,” Cullen told him.

“Ah, thank you, Master Rutherford.”

Cullen looked slightly off-footed. “Just Cullen is fine—I don’t hold much for formalities.”

“I do not, as well, if you would wish to simply call me Cassandra.”

“I see,” said Arlath. “Thank you. I will do that. You might also call me just, Arlath.”

“Well, I still want to be _The_ Iron Bull. And Master _The_ Iron Bull sounds more suggestive than respectful.”

Arlath looked at him. He opened his mouth but was quiet for several seconds before saying, “Yes, I can see how that might be.”

“Indeed,” Dorian smirked.

“Well—we have a long day tomorrow,” Eckona said, standing up and holding onto the table as she swayed. “We should get some rest.”

“To Tevinter,” Dorian drawled, holding up his mug.

“Fuck that! To the Bold Dancers!” Sera replied, taking a swig from her mug.

Everyone dutifully drank down their mugs.


	19. Clever Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas/Lavellan  
> \------------
> 
> His hands skimmed over her shoulders. Her left hand curled up, tight and white-knuckled, into her trouser leg.
> 
> “Lethallan,” he murmured again at her ear, “try to keep relaxed.”

Cullen put his hands on his sword hilt. “Solas—would you mind giving a demonstration?”

Solas looked up. “Of course, Commander.” He stood from the table, gently pushed his chair in. “For the recruits?”

“Yes,” Cullen said, more slowly. “Many have never faced mages in direct combat—it seems prudent to at least show them what a real mage will do.”

“I don’t know if I fit what it would mean to be a _real_ mage but I am happy to help.” He grabbed his staff and followed the Commander to the main doors. 

He could feel her presence before they reached the door. This Herald was apparently flummoxed by all of this attention. He was uncertain if she spoke to him because she needed a level head around or if she had some curiosity that went beyond a Dalish meeting an apostate for possibly, the first time. He’d examined her for hours, trying to unlock the mark, to no avail. She’d looked younger, unconscious. Awake, her eyes always seemed tired. She had a slender nose—that looked like it might have been broken at one time for the slight crook in it. Her eyes were hazel and her hair was silver-grey. She kept it bound away in a tail most of the time. She wore no make-up or paints and for the moment, her forehead and cheeks were sunburnt. Her features were angular, in the way of their people, but not so long. It made her look waifish. He’d watched her joke with Cullen, laugh uproariously at the Bull, tease Cassandra, quip with Sera and be respectful to Blackwall, like a young Dalish might be to a Keeper.

But when she approached him….she was different.

For one thing, she had a tendency to approach from between the apothecary shop and the house next to it. She never walked up to him directly. And when she did approach either diagonally or from behind, she lingered. She hesitated before getting close enough to speak. She would take some breaths as if to fortify her courage.

He wondered, at first, if she had some fear of him. The first time she’d come to speak to him at Haven, she’d approached him like a normal person, greeted him and was friendly. Until the subject of the Dalish came up. He’d been blunt about his thoughts on them and he could see from the spike in her shoulders and the narrowing of her eyes that she was angry. 

How typical. He crossed his arms to once _again_ argue with the blind and blunted masses.

But instead, she took a deep breath and he felt her simmer down. Then she’d said softly, “ _Ir abelas, hahren._ What would you have us do?”

That gave him pause. She not only apologized, she also used _hahren_ , a term of great respect. And she was using it non-ironically. 

Perhaps….perhaps he could be _too_ harsh sometimes. The Dalish….well, they certainly tried to keep their culture alive in the small ways that they could. It wasn’t as though they’d…well…

She looked away when he apologized and when he offered what knowledge he had, she did take it. But she didn’t look up at him for the rest of it. Seems it had taken some courage for her to speak to him at all and he’d burnt her quickly. And like anyone burned, she retreated. 

He felt a little guilty about it—and was at least able to end their talk on a more positive note. She looked up a little only then, thanked him and turned to go. She was twisting her fingers together, likely a nervous habit. But it was so starkly different from how she’d approached. 

And every time since then, when she approached to speak to him, she was full of trepidation. But, for some reason, she kept approaching. He watched his tongue after that and she seemed to be slowly edging back into being comfortable with him again—but her heart still pounded and her hands became clammy when she initiated conversation with him. 

 

When he exited the Chantry with Cullen, she was lingering beside the doors, picking her fingernails uncertainly. “Herald,” Solas spoke up, pausing.

She stiffened. Her eyes came up and she tried a bracing smile. “Hello.”

“I am about to go to Cullen’s recruits and give them a demonstration on magic used in combat.”

“Oh,” she said, uncertainly but he saw her eyes widen with interest. “That’s…that’s nice of you. And—uh—a good idea, for the soldiers.” She glanced at Cullen, who raised an eyebrow.

Solas smiled gently at her. “Why don’t you come? It might do you well to observe.”

“Oh!” She said, sounding more surprised. “Oh, um—I mean—if I…won’t be in the way?” She glanced hesitantly at Cullen.

“Of course not, Herald. They’re your soldiers too.”

“All right…” she said, fingers twisting together nervously. “Thank you…Solas.”

Hmm. Perhaps that was all she’d needed. Simply for _him_ to say something. To show he had an interest in her studies and welfare. Rather than, he supposed, thinking of her only as _Herald_. Ah, that was probably something she was struggling with. 

Solas gestured forward with his staff and she fell into step beside him. Her stride was confident, eyes up and ahead of her. There was no lingering of uncertainty when she faced Haven’s people or members of the Inquisition. It must all be inside—where all of that fear hid. And for some reason, he brought it out of her.

It was easy for him to divide his attention. For the recruits, he showed them what fire would do to their shields, their armor, and their flesh on a mounted dummy. He demonstrated the wall of ice that would block them from him. He demonstrated what his barriers could do to protect them. 

At the same time, he could keep a sliver on the Herald. She watched, enraptured. Certainly, she’d seen magic performed and she had certainly seen _him_ perform it in the field. Still, she was watching and listening just as hard as the recruits were. 

That was when he felt it. Something inside of her was simmering, struggling and muted. Like a candle trapped in a jar with the lid on, dimming, dying. She had…. _magic_. Well, every elf had a little. But she had more than a little. But something was wrong with it, something was stoppering it up. It was…as if it were being _contained_.

How strange. He had learned some things from the Fade about the Dalish but…containing their elven magic wasn’t something he remembered hearing about. It was constantly seeking a way to emerge. Sometimes it helped her pull her bowstring extra fast or extra hard. Sometimes, it helped her throw a dagger with incredible accuracy. And sometimes, it caused a terrible rage to burn up inside of her. Something small like—she couldn’t fix one of her buttons quite right—and she would suddenly be filled with a hatred so black and fierce that she had to put the item in question out of sight. It must have been an extensive process for her to learn to manage such sudden flashes of rage. 

After the demonstration, he walked right over to her. “Lady Herald—“

“You don’t…have to call me Herald,” she said quietly, eyes dropping away from his face.

He paused. “….Eckona.”

Her eyes snapped up to his and he saw her swallow hard.

“Eckona, I can feel magic inside of you. I thought you were a ranger.”

“Oh,” she stammered, looking down again. “Well, I—have some inherent, I guess. But it’s…never come out.”

“It has never manifested in _any_ way?” He asked.

“No, not really.” She shrugged. “It’s just always been like that. So I became a ranger instead.”

She was lying. He knew that immediately. However—they weren’t really friendly enough for him to point it out without driving her away completely. Her magic wasn’t simply bottlenecked. It was being _contained_. That meant a binding. Could this bound magic be how she came into contact with the Orb? It somehow responded to it?

“Perhaps…if you would like—I could help you.”

She looked uncertainly at her gloves.

“No need to decide now,” he told her, tone gentle enough that she looked back up at him. “We have time. When you’re ready, perhaps.”

 

He was writing in the small house given over for his use. From the desk, with its stacks of books, he could look across Haven and see the house she’d been given. The candles burned in the window long into the night but he did not see her until the next morning.

He heard the knock and took a sip of water before getting up. “Eckona. Good morning,” he greeted. “Can I help you with something?”

“Um,” said the Herald, twisting her fingers again. “I….I thought about your offer…to help me with my magic. I—I would…I was hoping that I could still…uh, take you up on it.”

Solas smiled again, gently. “Of course. Come, let us go down to the lake.”

She nodded, stepping away from the door so he could go through. He picked up his staff and walked into Haven, feeling her fall in step beside him. She had to take quicker steps, his stride was longer than hers. It made sense, he was about a full head taller than her. She…looked rather small, even with her armor on. 

What a strange choice for this Herald. He wondered why she felt she had to lie to him. Clearly, she didn’t realize who _he_ was—which was good. If she’d shown an inkling of suspicion, he might have to intervene. She also wasn’t a very good liar—at least, not to him. 

He furrowed his eyebrows as he led her out of the village, passed Cassandra’s practice area. Could that be it? She was…well…she had an interest in him? He shook his head to himself, shoving those thoughts away. Silly. 

He slid down the bank of the lake and walked out onto the ice. She followed. He could still feel her uncertainty, her agitation, but also a little bubble of something like _hope_. 

Out in the middle of the lake, he stopped and turned to face her. “Magic is a primal force,” he began. “Yours is…stoppered up in some way, you say. But I can still feel how it struggles to find an outlet. It helps and hinders in little ways, as you are unable to take command of it. Have you always been this way?”

“Yes,” she answered.

All at once, he felt her whole demeanor calm. She was clearly used to this line of questioning. She knew the lies she would tell him. Interesting. 

“The Dalish, your Keeper, could do nothing to assist you?”

“No. She said it happened sometimes. And I couldn’t ask any human mages—else they might force me into a Circle.”

“Or kill you.”

“Or that, yes,” she agreed. 

“Sit down,” he told her and waited until she complied, sitting on her knees in front of him. “Close your eyes and focus on the bottleneck. What do you feel?”

Of course, she ought to feel it at the base of her neck or base of her spine. Even _he_ could feel that. It was a press of magic, like a belt, but distinctly elven. Whatever it was couldn’t be removed by an average mage. It felt particular to the Keepers.

“I guess…in my chest?” She said softly. “I’m not sure.”

“Your chest?” he asked her, kneeling in front of her. “Here?” he asked, placing his fingertips below her collar, at her breastbone. He felt her tense, even under her armor. Partially because she was lying, perhaps. And partially because he was touching her.

“I…think so,” she answered carefully.

He eyed her. “Well, that, at least, gives me a place to start. In the meantime—close your eyes—I need you to relax.”

“Gives you a place to start what?”

“Research on how your magic could be bound up like it is. Now, eyes closed. Relax.”

She looked uncertain again but she closed her eyes. It took her a few moments for her to force her body to relax. It let her magic relax too. The tiny bit of it that escaped from her at all times, curled like a waft of smoke above her head. He examined its progress, leaning in close to her. “Try to relax, Eckona,” he repeated. The closer he got, the more her heart pounded. 

He skimmed his hands an inch above her hair, her face, her throat. He wrapped the Fade around them, trying to detect the binding. He shifted, going behind her and kneeling at her back. He could already tell—the binding was here. So why was she trying to lie about it? _Could_ she have had something to do with the Orb at the Conclave? Could Corypheus have known about her for some reason? None of his spies had alluded to her, ever. They surely wouldn’t have missed the insane magister conversing with a young elven woman. 

His hands skimmed over her shoulders. Her left hand curled up, tight and white-knuckled, into her trouser leg.

“Lethallan,” he murmured again at her ear, “try to keep relaxed.”

His breath made her ear twitch and suddenly he felt a surge of….well. _Heat_ from her. Not fear he’d find the source of the binding. Not trepidation that he knew she was lying. He felt _heat_. He felt her struggling to suppress _desire_. Because of him.

His hands paused on her shoulders and then he let them rest on her shoulderblades, sliding down her spine and settling on her hips.

He heard her take a startled breath. He felt her twisting inside, trying to keep herself calm so he wouldn’t notice how badly she… _wanted_.

He was a little floored by the intensity of it. So much that his own fingers curled tighter into her hips, feeling the urge to slide forward just a little more, just a little lower to the heat inbetween her thighs—

Solas jerked his hands away as if she'd burned him and stood up, brushing imaginary nothing from his clothes. “I apologize—I seem to have made you uncomfortable.”

“No!” She said quickly, scrambling to her feet. “It’s—I mean. It’s just…uh…just not used to being touched. You know--ha, when enemies get that close--you're usually trying not to die, you know? It’s not your fault. I’m sorry.”

“Well,” he said quickly. “in—in any case. We should continue at another time. I will begin looking into reasons for your magic being contained like it is. And then we will reconvene. Is that acceptable?”

“Of course,” she agreed quickly, twisting her fingers together again. “I’m sorry,” she repeated.

“It is nothing—the fault is mine,” Solas inclined his head to her. “I will see you back in Haven, Lethallan.”

He was unsettled by the intensity he felt in her. He entered the little house and shut the door and curtains. There were bigger things at play here. There were…more important issues to pay attention to. Yes, there might have been a little playful flirtation—she’d attempted to unsettle him and his responses now had _him_ unsettling _her_. It wasn’t supposed to be anything beyond that. Many found him slightly off-putting. Perhaps, instinctively, they knew he was something…different. But she hadn’t been off-put by him. She was…. _interested_. In all the things he talked about, his stories about his time in the Fade, his perspective on the world around them—it all seemed interesting to her. It usually made humans suspicious of him. And other elves, especially the Dalish, tended to roll their eyes and comment on how far-fetched his conspiracy theories were.

He could not waste time with some sort of dalliance with her. She was the Herald. She had somehow absconded the Mark that he’d intended to take. And in any case…it had been a long time. A _very_ long time….

Long enough that her intensity was… _alluring_.

He pulled away from that thought, pouring himself some wine instead. The weakness of a mortal body was certainly frustrating. 

He worked hard on ignoring it when he saw a candle lit in her little room. 

 

 

When they went to Redcliffe—whatever she experienced there seemed to break down some of the hesitance in her. They saw only flashes. The human mage, Dorian—saw Alexius attempt to cast something. Solas swung his staff a split second after Dorian. And he and the Herald vanished.

He and Blackwall stared in stunned silence with Leliana’s agents.

“Where is she!” Blackwall demanded. “Where have you sent them!”

Solas smelled something acidic, with sulfur, like burnt flesh. His grip had tightened so onto his staff that he heard wood creak. “If you have any desire to live to see your son another day—bring them back!”

“I cannot,” Alexius breathed. “I—“

“You had best figure it out,” Sera told him, an arrow notched and pointed at him. 

Solas’ left fist flared with fire, lighting up the room in a blaze of warm light. She had his Anchor. Of everything that could go wrong—another Tevinter magister. These lot would be the first to go. He took a deliberate step forward. Ice crackled, spreading from his foot, over the floor like cancer. It stretched, crystallizing, surrounding Alexius. The fire in his fist flashed brighter. 

And then the air around them burst, imploding on itself and collapsing. He _felt_ the Fade ripple and shudder and then tear open, ragged and wounded. 

And then….Dorian and Eckona stepped out of it. She looked calm, initially. Calm and composed and focused, she seemed, at least until Alexius was hauled away. And then she sunk down slowly in his chair. 

He, Blackwall and Sera approached slowly. “Herald?” Solas asked softly, skimming along her emotions, attempting to pin one down. There was shock there, shock and silence and horror and her stomach was tied up in a million knots.

But when her eyes came up and she saw him, they seemed to clear. She staggered up. “Solas…” And she….she _reached_ out to him. 

Solas handed his staff to Blackwall and stepped into the Herald, putting his hands on her arms and holding her steady. 

“Yo, Ecks….are you, uh, like….crazy now or?” Sera asked, with all the usual tact.

She didn’t speak but Solas could feel her shaking. _“Lethallan?”_

“I…” she started and then stopped, swallowing hard. She shook herself. “I saw…I saw you all die…” And then she leaned into Solas and very carefully, hugged him. She shuddered against him, fingers tightening almost imperceptibly into his tunic. Distress rolled through her, she was keeping it silent by taking very rhythmic breathes. He could feel the blend of intense relief to be back from wherever they’d gone, but also something distraught, helplessness, fear. 

Solas automatically put a hand to her hair, cupping her ear. He spoke gently into her hair, voice low and reassuring. “We did not. It’s all right.”

She nodded against his chest and he felt her suddenly tighten her grip on him for barely a second (pain of _want_ and _loss)_ and then stepped back. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. She rubbed her arms. “It was…very…bad. Very bad.” She walked passed them to speak with the Lead Scout.

Solas glanced at Blackwall, taking his staff back. The warrior raised his eyebrows. “Sounds like it didn’t go very well.”

“It didn’t,” Dorian told them.

Solas looked at the other mage. “What happened?”

So Dorian told them, from their chaotic arrival, Leliana’s torture, finding each of them and then each of them dying to buy them time. 

“She tried to go to you—“ Dorian said, “—when they opened the doors, pushed your bodies through like ragdolls. That definitely hit a nerve. I was afraid if she lost control, she’d be displaced again.”

“She lost control when she saw we was dead?” Sera asked, sounding surprised.

“I couldn’t know her well enough to really judge how tight her self-control is. But yes—I had to grab her and yank her back so she would go through the rift with me. She didn’t even hear me yelling at her—she was firing arrows like mad. Totally beyond reason.”

Blackwall turned his head, watching the Herald speaking to the Lead Scout. She had her arms crossed and her eyes were focused somewhere right next to the Scout’s head. She nodded to him and then turned to walk away. Her shoulders became slumped and tired. 

 

 

 

"I would like to further examine the magic in you,” he told her. “Sit.”

She hesitated and then did so, perching on the edge of his bed. He sat next to her. The light from the hearth made her silver hair glow and her hazel eyes burn. 

“Thank you,” Solas said, keeping his propriety by sitting about arms-length away. He turned to face her. “Be still—this won’t hurt.”

He let his palms face her and invoked his own magic, letting it seep inside through all the tiny places hers was trying to escape. He heard her take a sharp breath, likely from the pressure her body felt as the magic pushed inward. He didn’t think about it, really. He reached up and touched her face, smoothing his thumb comfortingly over the edge of her ear. "It's all right. Stay still."

Once again, he felt the sharp spike of _want_. It touched him, met him when his magic found the core of hers. He shivered a little. “You are _ripe_ with magic,” he said quietly, pitch dropping a little. He kept his eyes focused downward but unable to stop his breath from catching. Her spirit was bright and warm with emotions, with magic and openness and curiosity. He felt her shudder 

She leaned in towards him, breathing in at his shoulder. His hands drifted to her waist, her hips and then around to her back. “This is where your magic is locked down,” he murmured to her. "I did some reading about this method of binding. This is a locking seal. Your brother is your twin, isn't he? He was a mage and when you showed the potential for magic too they bound you so that you could stay. But it was never the same afterwards."

Her expression confirmed it, a flash of instinctive hurt, something vulnerable passing through her eyes and looking aside.

"Whatever happened," he said, fingers going to her temple to turn her face back to him, "you need not define yourself by it."

Her eyes searched his and he felt the relief wash through her. She'd been expecting anger, he suspected, for lying to him. His hand had stayed at her temple, now the fingers gently touched her ear before sifting back into her hair. Felt her _feel_ how intense the unfamiliar gut-wrenching stab of _desire_ for something she was absolutely sure she could not have. He _felt_ the sincerity there as she seemed to close in on herself. Years and moments and impressions flooded through him from her--an incredibly lonesome childhood, a chaotic set of teenage years feeling trapped in her own skin, and the slow turn to stone. She was useless, expendable, no one important. Certainly not good enough for _him_. It was, he supposed, like finding such a stone, dusting it off and suddenly seeing all the facets. And a sudden, strange sense of _kinship_. Solas searched her face, his hand settling on the small of her back. There was a sort of...severity to her features, a sharpness that reflected her ancestors. It wasn't unpleasant at all. Just different. But how she _burned_ inside at his touch. He swallowed, taking a breath to try and clear his thoughts. He closed his eyes hard but instead of blocking out everything about her, it seemed only to intensify. He could feel every touch, take in the scent of her—something rich, like pumpkin. It was so easy to feel her magic, and that constant restraint she expected from herself . He tried to pull his hands away, to lean back from her. She stilled him with a touch. He opened his eyes, seeing it now, her fingers gently holding his wrist.

“Solas,” she breathed, faint and….and something else. Her other hand touched his chest, hesitant. When he did not jerk away, she flattened her palm against his tunic.

He kissed her. It was hard and desperate, his hands pulled her into his lap. He felt her grip tighten in his shirt while her other lighted on his cheek, pulling him closer. She got up on her knees, straddling his lap and leaning down a little to renew the kiss. 

His fingers dug into her and pulled her down on top of him, hands wandering. He skimmed over her breasts and then rolled them onto their sides. He pulled her back to his chest, holding her fast and sliding fingers down. Just a little more. Just a little lower. Skimming under her trousers and shuddering when he met slick heat. She jerked, strangling a soft cry. He wrapped one around her to keep her still, using his other hand to pull back, uncoil the tongue of her belt and open the ties on her trousers. Then he slid in again, middle finger gliding over that smooth nub. She cried out softly, hands coiling into his blankets. He massaged her with rhythm. There was no speeding up or slowing down—those were amateur mistakes. Consistency, pressure, rhythm. And she became slicker, hotter, shuddering more, soft moans becoming harder to quell. 

There was a knock on the door. 

The two elves froze, panting for breath. 

“I apologize for disturbing your study, Herald. Commander Cullen has returned and would like to share his report with you.”

Eckona took a breath to respond. “I—“

Solas' fingers shifted against her.

She swallowed hard. “I will be right there. Thank you!”

Solas slowly extracted his touch from her and sat up. She did as well, cheeks burning as she hurried to retie her trousers and fix her belt. 

She glanced sidelong at him. “I….”

“I’m sorry,” he interrupted, feeling a bit like he wanted to puke. “I…I forgot myself.”

“I didn’t mind,” she said quickly, quietly.

He hesitated.

At his silence, she looked away, seeming defeated. “I’m sorry.” She got up, grabbing her satchel and hurried out the door.

Solas took a deep breath. The touch, the heat, the feel of her, the _sound_ \--

He couldn’t. Getting distracted with her would be a terrible idea. She would die like all the others eventually. Because eventually, he’d have to take the Anchor back. And that would only happen if she was dead. It was inevitable. 

He resolved to keep his interactions with her purely of teaching intent and when he went to her the following day, he treated her no differently. She took her cue from him. They were friendly, civil, and polite but he led them to a public area in Haven and they did not touch each other.

Focused on that, on examining her magic, he was able to guide her in reaching down and touching that core of power. It was still bound, but when she suddenly invoked the Mark—it narrowed her focus to a pinpoint and she was able to tear a small hole in the containment. 

He felt it when it occurred and he felt her excitement, the thrill in her when a steady stream of her magic was free. That was all she needed for now. That would allow her to learn some simple spells without being overwhelmed by the flood that would occur when he figured out how to remove the binding completely.

She was cradling fire in her hands by the end of the night. 

A week and a half later, enough of her magic had escaped to allow it to actually properly manifest. He caught the scent on the air—lemon and moss—and unfamiliar. There were no mages here with a scent like that. And when he wandered to where the mages were being quartered, he lost it. He headed back into the town, towards his own quarters…

“Dorian—step away. Please—it’s too much. I’ll be sick.”

Solas perked, walking over to the corner of Adan’s shop, slipping around the wall and—

Dorian had her pressed up against the wall, leaning in _far_ too close. “I wonder if you’d like the smell of _his_? It’s—“

And then he _saw_ Solas. He barked out a laugh and straightened up, stepping away from her. Something bristled in Solas' magic and he _felt_ Dorian's back away, still looking extremely amused with himself, but not dumb enough to poke a bear in the eye with a stick.

Solas had suspected that, if her magic did manifest the way it was supposed to, it would be strong but honestly, he wasn’t sure she _could_ manifest it properly. Mages manifested as children and the magic was constrained in power by a child’s small size and limited understanding and development. But she was an adult, already grown and developed. 

He spent two weeks observing it, allowing her to get a feel for it. She had to adjust for bursts of energy that her magic could give her. She adjusted gratefully to the lack of uncontrollable rage that sometimes flooded her head. Things were clearer. She’d felt so thick and muted but hadn’t realized it until the containment was breached. Imagine how she would feel when the binding was _gone_. He was still reading about that, peering into the Fade to attempt to find an answer. He did not want to peer into her dreams—that might be too intrusive, too intimate—and yet, it may be the only option.

But before he could do it—they would deal with the Breach. He directed the mages and he stayed near her. He tried not to think too much about why. Whether it was that closing this Breach might kill her and he would be closest to remove the Anchor from her…..or that he wanted to stay close in case she…in case she was _hurt_ …he didn’t look too much at that. He planted his staff into the dirt, channeling his power—careful not to reveal the massive well of it—but more than any of the other mages present.

That day was a whirlwind. He was not surprised when Corypheus showed up—the Elder One. He had assumed it would happen eventually. He destroyed Haven and cornered the Herald.

Solas had been torn from his place at her side and thrown into the stables. He smashed into the wall, twitching as his body flared to heal itself. He became aware again when the dragon landed. He tried to stagger up, the whole world tilting sideways and sending him stumbling into the dirt. 

Blood was pouring down the side of his face, fingers twitching in the dirt. He couldn’t get up. Everything was blurred and fuzzy. He watched Corypheus yank her into the air by her arm. Watched her kick at him, watched her scream when he _reached_ into her to try to rip away the Anchor.

Permanent. 

Solas knew that. He tried to stagger up again, if Corypheus was going to kill her, it would be now. But he threw her instead and she slammed into the trebuchet—he saw her look at the lever. His heart jumped into his throat. 

“N-no…” he managed to get his feet. “Eckona—“

Blackwall grabbed him under the arm. “We’ve gotta go!”

Cassandra grabbed his staff. “She is going to—“

Eckona kicked the lever to the trebuchet.

“No!” He reached—and then Blackwall and Cassandra were both running, forcing him along with them. Run or be buried. There was nothing they could do for the Herald now. 

Solas wasn’t sure if he was desperate to get to the Anchor….or get to _her_.

So at the camp they’d made, after Dorian assisted with some healing magic, he’d intended to go into the Fade to try and search for her--when the strange boy, Cole appeared at his side. 

“You know what you really want to do. You should do it. She wants you too. She likes your intensity.”

He did a double-take at the boy. “What?”

The boy blinked. “Your eyes stick to me. You remember.”

“Yes, why—“ and then he _felt_ it. This boy was... He straightened slowly. “You are a _spirit_.”

“Yes,” he said. “I am Cole. You are silent, sorrowful, Solas. You should listen—listen to what she’s telling you when she’s not telling you. You should listen to what _you_ are telling you. When you’re not telling.”

“It is not a good idea. She is the Herald.”

Cole seemed to stare right through him. “You are not an apostate. Not how they think.”

Solas’ eyes snapped over to him, staring, breath catching in his chest.

Cole met them. “You’ll be happier. You are wrapped in darkness, in sadness, pelt of loneliness. You wander the earth with no pack. You want one so badly you can hardly stand it. But you had to stop your pack—they hurt people. They hurt _your_ people. You stopped them and saved your people and went to Sleep. And now you’re confused and twisted and muddled up like knots in your head and in your belly and in your eyes.” 

Solas stared at Cole. _He knows. How could he know?_

“You would be better with a pack. You would not be alone. Down in the deep-dark where all the ghosts are. There’s no dying alone when you have a pack.”

 _No dying alone._

“Are you...Compassion?” Solas asked carefully.

“Yes!” Cole said, tone brightening. “No one else seems to know who I am. I’m Cole to them, when they remember me. When they don’t, I’m him. That one. The knots in your eyes are tied to the Fade, to me. And to _her_.”

“It’s not a good idea,” Solas told him, sternly. “And it’s very likely that she is dead.”

Cole tilted his head under his giant hat. “Smothering, sighing, signing and surging in the dark is not a good idea. But she is still alive. She’s fighting to get here. She doesn’t know how to know. She doesn’t know how. But when she looks into the beyond, into back, into the break—there is no turning away. She wants to return to here—even though she doesn’t know where here is.”

“Why?”

“For _you_.” And then Cole stood up, walking around the fire and he pointed to the southwest. “She is coming.”

Cullen started. “What?”

“Who? The Herald?” Cassandra demanded.

“Yes,” Cole answered to no one in particular, still pointing. “That way.”

Cullen grabbed his sword and took off, Cassandra and Leliana followed. And after a moment of hesitation, so did Solas.

 

 

After he led them to Skyhold, Solas steeled himself. He would speak to her. He _should_ speak to her again. Perhaps attempt to….to what? He wasn’t sure. But apparently, he need not have bothered.

She came to _him_. 

It stunned him to suddenly find her with him. At first, he thought he had conjured her in his own dream. He had full control of his dreams, after all. When she walked up to him, he was briefly puzzled. He hadn’t created her here. Was she…real?

So he took her to Haven—before its destruction—forming it around them in the Fade with his will. When she asked why he’d brought her there and he told her Haven would always be important to her...

She told him they’d discussed that already.

There was no pause in her, no hesitation that they hadn’t had any sort of discussion regarding that. Had he created her here, she would have known. But she didn’t. She was really asleep. She was really Dreaming.

She had somehow come to _his_ Dream. Could it be the Mark that let her Dream with such focus? No doubt, she’d never done it before. The closest it came to was astral projection. She wasn’t a mage, she couldn’t even light candles before she’d met him. How incredible.

The Fade straddled a line between the real and not real. Everything simultaneously existed and did not exist. In that, he could hide a little. Things here were different, the rules in the Fade, in the Dream, had not changed much from before he’d gone to Sleep. It was easier to do things here. It was easier to…perhaps show her what had happened when she’d been unconscious. 

It was easier to let his feelings come to the surface and admit the change—admit how his regard for her had slowly turned from suspicion to respect to…affection.

_Felt the whole world change._

The Dream made that apparent, made it obvious—the spirits around him reflected the intensity of the emotion. 

When she kissed him, it broke his resolve. He grabbed her when she pulled away, pulled her into him and kissing her was both the best and worst mistake he could have made.

Maybe it….maybe it would be worth it. When she came to him after she woke, ears red but smiling so hard her face might crack. It brightened her eyes and smoothed away the worry and fear. 

But still, he had enough control to hold back. Maybe he was still accustomed to the unhurried pace of _anything_ from Before but…he didn’t want to jump in. Maybe they…well. He still had magic to teach her about. That would give them time to get to know each other better. For him to analyze if this would even work. 

Yes, magic. Best to focus on her new magic.

 

 

But new magic could be unpredictable and he wanted to see how her inherent magic might interact with the Rifts and the Mark. So he petitioned they go to the Hinterlands to close one of the small, lingering rifts. 

So he, Blackwall, Cassandra and the Inquisitor ended up in a clearing to take care of a Rift. He should have been paying closer attention. She was exhausted and distracted from the previous few days. Leliana had told Cassandra that the Inquisitor had had intense nightmares lately—likely about the Breach and whatever had occurred there. Maybe that was why she jumped in too soon to try to close the rift. And that monster demon had raked steaming claws down her face and buried them halfway into her throat. The rift burst out of existence and blood sprayed out into the shimmering air. 

Solas dropped his staff and ran to her, just managing to grab onto her before she collapsed. He opened her armor. Her throat had been deeply severed, a thick line bludgeoning diagonally from her ear down to her esophagus. Blood coated her armor, the grass and her clothes. Her white hair was streaked with it, sweat smearing it over her skin. 

And he _hesitated_. He could let her die and remove the Anchor. He could finally reclaim it and somehow deal with Corypheus himself—providing he was strong enough and—

“Solas! The potions!” Cassandra snapped at him.

Those thoughts fly out the window and cast over her, forcing tissue and muscle and skin and bone to come back together in the way it remembered. 

Maybe he should not have. It may have been more prudent to let her die but…but something stopped him. Something that made him bundle her up and take her to his horse so he could get her back to Skyhold. 

Something that made him sit near her bed and observe her until she awoke. 

Something that made him offer, again, to truly free her magic. He’d break her binding no matter what.

Something that made him finally throw caution to the wind and finish what they’d begun. 

 

 

 

What they’d begun…

Solas looked out the window. He could see the arm reflected behind him. It was encased in enchanted ice. He took it from her, hoping he might still be able to extract it somehow. Otherwise, he must find another way. Taking Mythal helped—with her power, he could control the Mark more easily. With this new power, he may be able to extract it.

If not, well, the others were still around. Or would be soon enough. He simply needed to find them first. Finding the elders he’d banished so long ago would be difficult once the Veil came down. Especially if they found each before he did. He was certain he could handle a few of them at once—after all—they’d been trapped for a millennium. Surely their power would be diminished as his had been? But he was not a wagering man when everything was held in the balance like this.

Sylaise had potential to be the most dangerous. Yes, she’d been a cooler head than the others but her quietness had belied a fertile mind. She would know the locations of all the Orbs, if any of them did. She was ice, Andruil had been fire. As Dirthamen had been the burning light and Falon’Din was the shadow.

Elgar had been an incredible warrior. If not Sylaise, then surely Elgar would know where the other Orbs were. And if they had attempted to travel the Fade—

Well, unless……when he’d erected the Veil, their power had been severed. They’d killed Mythal but her spirit had survived in someone. It was very possible that they had not entered the Sleep as he had or had not hidden in the Fade. It was entirely possible—the more he thought about it—that they had also taken avatars in the world.

He would send out agents to begin a search, just in case. Mages of great power in Tevinter, politicians anywhere in Thedas, universities—all these places might attract any of Seven who remained. He must find them—he’d know their minds. He’d use them to find the other Orbs and then he would absorb their power. Soon, soon. He’d be the only one of them who remained. 

Solas turned away from the window. His bright armor was carefully placed on a dummy. He should clean the blood off it from when he’d severed Eck—the _Inquisitor’s_ arm. He looked at it for a moment and then turned away. 

He saw his gaze in the mirror and he took a deep breath to steady it. His hair was growing back. It was thick and black, smooth and fine. It was growing quickly too, touching the edges of his ears. Soon it might be as it was when he awoke, a soft curtain of dark.

It would keep his head warm, anyway.

He smiled into the mirror and then it immediately broke apart. He looked away from his reflection. He paced his quarters, deep inside an old castle far to the west. More of the elves arrived every week. At first, just one—a lonely young man, battered and bruised. Kindness won him over quickly and soon, he was Fen’Harel’s. 

This young elf was his emissary. He sent him out and silently, word spread. The quick-elves now arrived like clockwork. Many recognized him as the former companion to the Inquisitor. Many more had come to hear the story of him removing her _Vallaslin_. They asked him to do the same—to prove he was who he said.

And he did. Watching their faces break apart in wonder and awe as their cruel markings were erased, as twin bindings were broken, as the old sobbed that they should find him so late in their quick lives. 

They knew the truth now. He was one of the Ancient Elves and he could restore their power, their history, their culture, their lives.

Fen’Harel knew that he could not be the only survivor. There had been others in the Sleep when he’d created the Veil. Case in point, he knew that Abelas was out there somewhere. It would be safer to bring him and his warriors into the fold—as he was well-aware that Ecko—the _Inquisition_ \--was also searching for him. Better to tie that loose end before he tripped on it. He didn’t suspect that Abelas was one of the Seven—but he wasn’t about to leave that to guessing.

He dressed himself in black and silver. It was plated with silverite in between the layers of fabric. He coupled the buttons of the waistcoat, fingers sliding over the embroidery. A tailor, a former slave from Minrathous, had created it and gifted it to him. His name was Dyrin. Born and raised into slavery. Now he created fantastical pieces of art for his fellows to wear. Now his magic was free to build in strength and ability. Now he created sweeping bolts of silk, rhythmic waves of color rippling around his shop, where children stopped to peer and point in the windows in wonder.

That was the world he wanted. 

Next to his armor was a small chest. He opened it to retrieve his gloves. Buried at the bottom was the coat _she_ had given him. His thumb stroked over the detailing in the leather. He closed his eyes and shut the chest. 

It was time to go out among his new people and—

“My Lord,” someone called and a knock came at his door. “My Lord, urgent news!”

Fen’Harel strode over, opening the door. A young elven woman, Yisma (from Val Royeaux, a servant) was standing there. “My Lord, I am sorry to disturb you but our spies have returned from Skyhold.”

Fen’Harel blinked. “Returned? Why?”

“Sire….the Inquisition has been disbanded.”

Solas’ eyes widened. 

And then he half-smirked. “Clever girl.”


	20. You Are Who You Choose to Follow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You are who you choose to follow_.
> 
> Was he? Or was he just pretending? Maybe he had never understood what Ser Geoffroy de Bordelon had meant all those years ago.
> 
> He looked back up at Cullen. “I….suppose even an old dog can learn new tricks.”

Varric adjusted his jaunty hat, the feather sticking out of it had a fine coating of dust on it. He brushed it off. “You know, I kind of like being Hook Diamond.”

“You make a pretty good mercenary captain too,” Iron Bull told him. “Just the right amount of flare and intrigue so that they didn’t laugh when you said your band’s name but still smiled at your jokes.”

Varric grinned. “More interesting than business. Maybe I should leave the guilds to my brother.”

Bull looked behind them, where the rest of the Bold Dancers were heading their way. It had taken them nearly two weeks to reach the border village of Derium. In the end, Bull went through first. He and his company were well-known and they were able to put the border guards of the tiny village at ease. They arrived three days ahead, spent a lot of gold and when the Bold Dancers arrived, he went out to meet them. 

Varric seamlessly stepped into the role of the mercenary commander. Behind him was Sera, dressed in rags and second-hand mail with a hat pulled low over her ears. Blackwall shaved his beard close to the skin and cut his hair. He had a greatsword on his back and a heavy cloak. They’d gone to some effort to muddy up his clothes and armor. Eckona was heavily robed and cowled. She carried only a staff in her right hand, everything else was contained in her heavy cloak. She did not speak, even when directly addressed by the border guards. Varric advised her just to stare creepily at them. Dorian presented himself as her servant (which caused a great deal of goading and teasing before they’d arrived) who spoke for her and who walked at Varric’s right to present the contract. Cole had no issue here. The guards would never remember him. He walked right by them to go greet Iron Bull. Cullen wore a cowl so that only allowed his eyes would be visible. They had painted him up like a desert warrior, using henna to mimic the intrinsic tattooing on his face and hands. His mantle was gone, instead wrapped in multiple red and beige linen layers that were lined in steel. He carried two curved scimitars at his hips. Cassandra was trickier, likely recognizable to a degree but uncomfortable with pretending to be something she wasn’t. Dorian found her an elaborate silver mask to wear and outfitted her with old Antivan mail. She kept her short axe at her hip, Cullen’s broadsword and her shield strapped to her back. Josephine was clearly not a fighter but they could certainly make her look like one. They dressed her all in black, wrapping her up like a shadow. Two small daggers were strapped to her upper arms. Her hair was unbound, flowing down her back in a silken wave. They painted her face in gold, telling the border guards that she was Mistress Fina of the Painted Stars, a league of thieves and assassins that operated out of the Korcari Wilds. There was no such group, as far as any of them knew, but the guards wouldn’t know that. She stood at Dorian’s side, looking every inch the exotic, dangerous, intoxicating killer. She watched the guards while Dorian spoke to them.

Tam wandered among the group, it kept the other guard’s eyes on her, a blend of suspicion, contempt and desire. Arlath prowled the edges, silent and staring. Anock was out of his element here, standing at Eckona’s side. He could see just under the cowl, into his sister’s face. Her gaze was stony and cold. It betrayed nothing. It was so different from before the Conclave. There had been more fear then. Anock kept quiet as much as he could. Uleran did as well but he made his annoyance known in his sour face, glaring at the Vints—perhaps hoping one would be silly enough to start throwing insults.

Luckily, that didn’t happen. After a tense half-hour of questioning, which Varric was quick to take control of and subtly direct, they were permitted into the village. Iron Bull made a big show of greeting Varric, laughing and joking and cussing as he led them into the local tavern. The tavern, Stone Table, was quiet and warm. So long as they spent money, the bartender didn’t seem to care who they were. It had been the best week he’d had in months when the Bull’s Chargers arrived. The renowned mercenary company had brought many to the village in curiosity. And when the Iron Bull had politely informed the barkeep that a second company would soon be joining them from the Korcari Wilds; that just made people more curious. 

They certainly did look mysterious, one of them wrapped up so heavily that only her hand holding onto her staff was visible. Even most of her face was obscured. The barkeep could only make out a pale jawline. The crew seemed to be mostly elves and humans, led by the dwarf—well, he’d seen stranger things. Mercenary companies were usually a mix of different cultures and races—after all, you didn’t voluntarily go put your life on the line for money if you had family and friends to stay in one place for.

In any case, both bands paid for their drinks, paid for rooms and caused no trouble. 

Pleasant couple of companies. Completely forgettable in every way.

Still, best to be on their way. The locals would talk about them for a few days, likely. So the next morning, the Hook Diamond and the Iron Bull met up early in the village square with his respective company. Dorian acted the part of the go-between, comparing both contracts and, upon finding them satisfactory and correct, he led them out of the village. 

They kept face, traveling in their facades for two days until Iron Bull, Sera, Cole and Varric could confirm that they didn’t appear to be being followed. 

“I do not like all this secrecy,” Cassandra grumbled, pulling up her mask to nestle back into her hair. “I know it is necessary. But I do not like it.”

“I feel very strange,” Josephine added. “I have never been dressed like this—even as a bard. Did you see how those men _watched_ me? It was very rude.”

“Struck by you, likely,” Blackwall said. “The gold paint was a good touch, Dorian.”

“Of course it was. It made her look exotic and that shimmer was perfect with your dusky skin,” Dorian told her. “You might do very well as an assassin, should you ever decide to change careers permanently.”

“I don’t know about that,” Josephine tittered. 

“Well, we have a story all arranged,” Blackwall said, smiling a little. “You could have your own network of assassins. The Painted Stars would suit you well, my lady.”

“Should they all be painted with stars?” Josephine asked.

“So long as they were painted as you are,” he shrugged.

Josephine blinked, doing a slight double-take at him. 

And as if suddenly remembering his place and position, Blackwall looked away. “I’m sorry if that was…” He shook his head and crossed his arms.

“Oh, no—I simply…” Josephine hesitated a moment and then said, “It is good to have you return to us, Ser Blackwall.”

“Yeah, we seen more of you lately,” Sera told him. “Though, we gotta get that beard back. I barely recognize you without it. I’ll start mistaking you for Cassandra.”

Cassandra rolled her eyes, making a disgusted noise.

Blackwall hesitantly look at Sera, then at Josephine and he nodded a little. “Thank you. I know I have much to make up for but—“

“Don’t start on that again,” Varric drawled, chewing on the stem of his pipe as they walked. “People who get too caught up in their own tragedy never get anywhere. You failed. You failed a lot of people. You were a coward. But you’re working on changing that now. You keep wallowing in this shit and you’ll never move on. Better late than never.”

“I don’t…know how to be Thom Rainier.”

“Well, you look like a damn lumberjack to me. So I’m going to call you Lumberjack. In the meantime, Lumberjack, start learning how to lumberjack.”

“A Grey Warden to….a lumberjack.”

“Considering you never _were_ a Grey Warden, I don’t really see the problem. You want a real personality, you start from the bottom and work your way up. You’re not a martyr here, Lumberjack. You serve as a cautionary bad example to others who’d make the same mistake.”

Blackwall looked away.

“Be ashamed, sure. That’s part of atoning, but show you’re interested in moving on and figuring out who the hell you are too. I hear you’re pretty good at carving shit from wood, building small toys and such. I assume you can do other things?”

“Well, yes—I’ve some knowledge of carpentry.”

“Good,” Varric told him. “That’s where you start. You like carving shit. So carve some shit. Little knickknacks to sell to make us some money, or friends, or for trading. When we get into deep woods, fell a few trees and see if you like it. It’s bound to be less stressful than pretending to be a Warden. We gotta do something with that arm of yours. And we can always use someone who can repair weapons and make bows. Arlath can tell you something about smithing, I imagine.” Varric looked at the elf, who only nodded silently. “See, there you go. And just like that—you will figure out who the hell Thom Rainier is. But until then, I’m just gonna call you Lumberjack. Or Jack.”

“Jack of all trades, master of none,” Blackwall said, looking sorrowfully at his feet.

“Could be—if you want it to be.”

“You think it’s that simple?”

Varric snorted. “It _is_ that simple. Stop trying to make everything so complicated.”

Blackwall went quiet.

Cassandra took a deep breath. “He is correct, for once, Rainier. You were given a chance to redeem yourself. Use it. Else, you might as well be dead.”

“I could have been—“

“Then kill yourself if you want to die so badly. You want to continue to run and hide from your cowardice—then kill yourself,” Cullen interrupted. “You have to face the man you are when you meet the Maker. He’ll know whether you atoned or whether you ran. And he’ll know you did it, not because of some sense of justice, but because you were a coward.”

Blackwall grimaced, looking like he was fighting back a response. “I did what I felt I had to—“

“Yes, you insulted the Inquisitor, claimed she was corrupt when she cashed in some favors to have you released to us. Even at that point, you had nothing but insults. You were self-righteously attesting to you somehow being morally superior to the Inquisitor. Your pride was more important to you than the fact that she brought you home, where your death would not make anyone laugh or smile—as it would have in Val Royeaux. And then, instead of killing you, she spared you. I can’t say I would have done the same. But, I’m not the Inquisitor. There is some good in you, I think, deep down. And if you can learn humility and get over your martyr complex—you may even find it someday.” Cullen stared at Blackwall, glaring like he’d been wanting to say all that for ages.

The rest of the group was quiet, simply watching.

Blackwall might have used his seniority of age, his experience in wandering and combat to bolster himself….but when faced with Cullen, a former Templar, a former Knight-Commander, who asked for nothing and served with absolute loyalty, who had been tortured in Kirkwall and driven to near-madness. Who had shown hate towards mages—which he then faced, tempered it and was open about his regret for the man he’d been in the past…

Blackwall found himself lacking. That was humbling. Cassandra was wild in combat and extremely devout and didn’t care about formalities, there wasn’t much in common between them. Iron Bull was a hurricane in all things and didn’t care about order and chaos—they seemed much the same to the Qunari. But Cullen…Cullen was the man he’d wanted to be in his youth…

Cullen was younger than him, an established military tactician and strategist who had the loyalty of his men (even now that they were gone) and the respect of everyone around him. 

What had Blackwall honestly given the Inquisition—besides lies and a strong arm? 

Even Dorian, who he didn’t much care for, brought expertise of magic and an intense desire for the righteous cause of the Inquisition. He could admit he loved his homeland but was open in saying that it needed to change. Dorian’s flamboyant attitude….

Hmm. Blackwall had not actually considered before _why_ Dorian acted the way he did. Dorian was…covering up pain with a smile, lessened the fear of death with a grin, and made the others laugh so they could all keep going. 

Blackwall glanced sidelong at the Tevinter. Whenever he’d been snide or even cruel to Dorian, typically, he’d respond with good humor or a polite sidestep. Yet, if Dorian had questioned his honor the way he’d done it to him…

And Cole, who had tried to help him…who had reached out where no one else could and _knew_ his sins and instead of accepting it—he’d threatened the boy, called him names, made harsh japes at him. 

He may have been a coward when he ran away from his life in Orlais and for a long time, he pretended that was the only cowardly thing he’d done. But…here among those who were attempting to show him mercy…he’d been a coward here as well.

He had chosen to follow Inquisitor Eckona, an outcasted Dalish elf who had been bound to her brother as a servant since their childhood. Sent to the Conclave as a side note, ended up being the only survivor. She’d fallen deeply in love with Solas and had weathered through constant death threats, the butchering of her clan, the loss of the man she’d wanted at her side for the rest of her life _and_ may have to kill eventually. She pushed others to stay behind, would risk herself to save any of them. She’d admitted to her failures and tried to do better. 

_You are who you choose to follow_.

Was he? Or was he just pretending? Maybe he had never understood what Ser Geoffroy de Bordelon had meant all those years ago.

He looked back up at Cullen. “I….suppose even an old dog can learn new tricks.”

Something in Cullen’s eyes flickered and he nodded, once. “Then the time to start is now.”

 

 

 

That night, they camped by a small river. The wind was strong and according to Arlath, sandstorms were likely on the way. The elf summoned Blackwall to him and had the man help him gather stones an driftwood to place around the tents for extra protection from the blowing sand. 

The two warriors were quiet and Arlath made no mention of the earlier discussion. They built up the fortifications around the tents and then sat by the fire. Blackwall hesitated to leave, for it seemed that Arlath might finally say something. 

And eventually, he did. “These,” said the elf, quiet and low at the campfire, “are simple tools.” He opened up his satchel, procuring a wheel of leather that contained a small knife, a pick, a chisel and a file. “But, they can be used just as well for carving.” The elf handed the wheel to Blackwall.

“I—can’t take this. I—“

“You must, Lumberjack.”

That tone didn’t leave much in the way of argument. And even if it had, Arlath got up and walked away to take first watch. Rainier looked down at the tools, brushing a calloused thumb over the smooth metal.

“What can you tell us about this contact of yours, Dorian?” Eckona asked, finally able to push the cowl off her face and sipping from a steaming tin cup of tea.

“He is an Altus, like me. Not quite a Magister and not totally insane. He’s known for being rather eccentric.”

“A friend of yours? Eccentric? No way,” Varric told him.

“You’d know, I suppose,” Dorian grinned. “Anyway—he’s a good choice because no one would look twice at him hiring a team of mercenaries to defend his manor from bandits and slaves. As we all know—elves have been disappearing in droves. They’re going _somewhere_ but no one seems to know where. The upper classes are in a panic. If it were always so easy for them to escape—why wait until now? But of course, they couldn’t before now. There have been isolated instances of elves taking revenge for wrongs done to them under their Masters—“

“Good,” Sera scowled.

“—but it’s put all of Tevinter on edge. And with elves vanishing left and right, dwarven slaves have started an uprising of their own. It’s a bit chaotic, really. So we are avoiding the capital. My friend’s name is Victor Formaint. Just a warning, he _is_ a necromancer and a powerful mage besides. But, he traveled the world as a young man and wants to change things, like I do. I told him I needed a party to get quietly into Tevinter so to investigate where elves are disappearing to without drawing the attention of the one I believed was responsible. He accepted. I imagine he’ll be rather surprised when he sees it’s the Inquisitor.”

“You didn’t tell him?”

“No, no, no. He likes surprises. Sort of. But I didn’t need anything leaked about the Inquisition being involved. All he knows is that two mercenary teams are arriving with me. Once he sees who you are—he’ll know what it’s about.”

“And we can trust this man?” Cassandra scowled brusquely. 

“Yes. Well. No. But you shouldn’t trust me either. It’s the same sort of thing. He may try to charm you ladies but you know he’s a liar. You can always trust a liar to lie. You can’t always trust an honest man to be honest.”

“Dorian,” Cassandra said, raising her eyebrows.

“Yes, we can trust him. And if not, we kill him and take over his manor. He’s eccentric—it’s not uncommon for him to disappear from public life for long periods at a time.”

“You’d give him up, just like that?” Tam asked him.

“I have few rules for my friends,” Dorian said, “but the few that exist are very strict. The one I am most stringent about is betrayal. I do _not_ forgive and forget.”

“That seems like a sad way to live…” Tam said, quietly.

“But it’s the way you live,” Dorian answered. “One who betrays is more likely to betray again. You set yourself up for it if you pretend that everything is all right and _surely_ they’ve learned their lessons and wouldn’t take _advantage_ of your kindness and mercy again. Only to find that that is oft not the case at all.” 

“Then maybe we shouldn’t be trusting you to lead us around,” Uleran said. “You being a Vint and all.”

“Yes, I have heard that since I began traveling in the south. I am somehow responsible for the war and butchery and the enslavement of the elven people. Perhaps I traveled back in time? Or perhaps those who blame me for something I have no control over and wasn’t present for—only blame me because they lack the drive, determination and courage to try to change things for themselves. I’m doing my part to try to change Tevinter. Solas tried to say I had no real devotion because I could admit that I can’t force the Magisters to free their slaves. I am doing what I am able—but I cannot perform miracles. If you want a miracle, you won’t get it. Change is long, arduous work. Those who refuse to put in the work would rather sit back and complain.”

Uleran looked at Anock. Anock looked at Eckona. Eckona crossed her arms, lifting her eyebrows. “What? Don’t expect me to defend you.” She narrowed an eye at Uleran. “You can hide behind my brother for as long as you have him convinced that he needs you. But don’t make the same mistake with my friends here. You betray us and I’ll gut you myself.”

“Eckona! He is…he is your clan. He’s…he was your trainer,” Anock said, plaintively.

“Yes. You don’t realize what that means because you were the precious First.”

“Your brother is still the Keeper of this clan—“

“I don’t care,” Eckona told them. “Things have changed since you sent me off to the Conclave, Uleran. I am not going to scrimp and scurry after Anock like a slave. He’s my brother. He’ll either learn to treat me like his sister or he can go back to Fereldan or Orlais or wherever.” She gestured outward with her hand, to Dorian and the others. “This is my family now. These are my friends. They helped me when no one else did. And they cared about me.”

“Aww, boss,” Bull said, mock-teary, making the others smile.

“So make your decision, Anock. You don’t need Uleran.”

“He has…given me guidance and…he has knowledge…”

“That doesn’t mean it’s worth a damn.” She sneered at Uleran. “So, you as well. Make your fucking decision. You go with us to fight for the greater good or go south and spend your days in the woods, hating humans and romanticizing about the ancient elves and doing absolutely nothing about any of it.”

Uleran seemed to deflate a little. “Don’t you understand how difficult this is for us to accept?”

“I learned it before you did. So yes. I understand. I thought everyone was dead for two _years_ before I got the letter from Anock. You knew where I was. So what’s your excuse?”

Uleran looked away. 

Anock twisted his glove. “….he thought you wouldn’t have us. That you hated us. Because of…well, before the Conclave…”

“Well, you know what they say about assumptions?”

Anock tilted his head.

“You should only have an ass above you or below you?” Sera guessed.

“That sounds about right,” Iron Bull agreed. “Though, an ass behind you—“

“Stop!” Varric commanded. “Don’t.”

Cullen snorted into his cup.

“Or well…in front of you, if you’re against a wall—“

“What are you _talking_ about!” Cassandra snapped.

The Chargers burst out laughing and Eckona smiled gently at her brother. “These are my friends. They have passion, drive, determination and honor. If you want to learn what that’s like—stay with me, Anock. Even you, Uleran. Stay with us and learn.”

“And you both as well,” Cassandra said, nodding to Tam and Arlath. “You both appear to be well-grounded. You are excellent in combat.”

Tam beamed at Cassandra’s approval.

Arlath examined her a moment and nodded. “Thank you, Lady Cassandra.”

Uleran crossed his arms, scowling at the dirt.

Anock glanced at him and then at his sister. “I….would like to stay.”

Eckona nodded. “All right, then.” 

 

 

 

Their arrival at the manor of Formaint was without ceremony. It lay in a valley, surrounded by three sides by an oasis of trees and one side with sand dunes. The land stretched out beneath them like a carpet at the cusp of the valley. They could see irrigation ditches leading from the oasis to farmland in the distance.

“All of this belongs to Altus Formaint. He has many slaves—or did—before the elves started vanishing. Understand before you meet him, we are raised to believe that slavery is normal here. Sometimes the way he speaks to his slaves may seem indifferent or harsh but it’s prudent not to start a righteous argument about it. He teaches his slaves to read—making them more fortunate than many. Some have even become spies for him.”

“Spies?” Tam asked.

“Yes—they likely already know we are here.”

So Dorian led the way into the valley. The wind was beginning to pick up, sand blowing everywhere around them, as Arlath had predicted. Tam seemed unconcerned about the shifting sand, bouncing on her tiptoes with Sera as the two circled the edges of the group, using sharp eyes to watch for an ambush.

At the gates to the main manor, they were greeted by a human who bowed to them. Dorian bowed back. “Please tell Victor that Dorian Pavus has arrived with his mercenaries, my dear.”

The woman let her eyes flicker over the group and then turned away. She was dressed in blue linens and wool cloak, her soft shoes barely making any sound as she opened the main doors and disappeared inside.

“Dorian Pavus!” 

Tam and Sera had arrows to bowstrings in a flash, pointing at the man who had appeared behind the group.

He was very tall with broad shoulders that belied his lean build. His hair was black and messy, sticking up in various directions. There was a hint of salt-and-pepper in his beard and at his temples. He wore a silver waistcoat and red trousers, a black bundle of lace was a cravat at his throat and on his shoulders he wore a black cloak. It cinched at the throat with a silver pin shaped at a teardrop. He bowed to the archers. “Lovely ladies, please don’t kill me yet.”

“Victor,” Dorian smiled, parting a way through the group to shake his hand. “It might have been a bad call, you know—appearing behind a dangerous group of veteran mercenaries.”

“Ah, spells and a few words would suffice. I’m not worried—talented though I’m sure they are,” he said, inclining his head again to Sera and Tam. “Please come in. Inya will spend an hour looking for me otherwise. She’s a Tranquil, you know? Apparently, when the southern Circles rebelled, they simply abandoned the Tranquil they created. Made them easy pickings for slavers. They’re so obedient. And she hasn’t run off like the other slaves.” Victor walked ahead with Dorian, leading them through the gates and to the main doors. “What on earth happened to your mustache?”

“Ah, I had to shave it—just in case I was recognized.”

“Do remedy that,” Victor advised. “You look weird without it.”

“I intend to. I miss the little curls at the end.”

The doors were shut behind the large group and Inya appeared. 

“Yes, yes, I found them, Inya,” he said before she could open her mouth. “Go start some tea, that’s a good dear.”

He turned to the group at large. “Now, if I might have the pleasure of introductions. You, of course, I know,” he said, pointing at the Iron Bull. “Tales of your valor and, ahem, _prowess_ have made it even this far north. And Tal-Vashoth to boot. Though your band seems larger than I’d heard and more varied. Are they from the second group? These Bold Dancers? That’s an excellent name.”

Dorian looked smugly at the others. “It _is_ , isn’t it.”

Varric rolled his eyes, grinning.

“Well, yes, introductions. About that. I may have brought you some names that will give you pause as much as Iron Bull.” Dorian gestured to the group.

Cullen removed the sheath of red fabric hiding the lower half of his face. 

“Ah, Cullen Rutherford. I heard of you—Kirkwall.” Victor eyed the man. “You have some dangerous friends, Dorian.”

Cassandra pulled off her silver mask.

“Oh, my. _And_ the Right Hand of the southern Divine.” That seemed to put him a little on-edge but he covered it with a smile.

Eckona hesitated and then pulled down her cowl. 

Victor peered at her a moment and then straightened. “The Inquisitor?” He looked at Dorian. “You’ve brought the _Inquisitor_ to Tevinter? Are you mad?”

“Well, technically, no. She’s not the Inquisitor anymore.”

“Dorian,” he said, lifting his eyebrows.

“She remembers who her friends are.”

Victor seemed to roll that around in his mind before examining her again. “My lady, please forgive my surprise.” He stepped up to her and kept his gaze on her face as she handed her staff to Anock. He took her hand afterwards and kissed her knuckles. “I see the stories were true. You lost your left arm in battle and the Mark with it.”

“Yes,” she answered. 

“Is that why you disbanded the Inquisition? I understand it came as quite a shock to Orlais and Fereldan.”

“Yes. The Inquisition’s work was done.”

“And why, praytell, would you come to Tevinter? The most likely nation on the continent that would gladly burn you at the stake.”

She glanced at Dorian and then back at Victor. “I want to find the one who took my arm. He has no reach here, yet.”

Victor’s eyebrows raised, chiseled jaw turning towards her. “Yet?”

“Yet,” she affirmed. “It will happen eventually. And when it does…no one will be able to stop him.”

“Unless… _you_ intervene with your small band?”

She shrugged. “We knew him best. We have the best chance of stopping him.”

“Which one was he?”

Her eyes darkened but did not move from his face. “Solas, the apostate elf, also known by Fen’Harel.”

“How quaint, taking the name of an elven trickster god?”

She smiled faintly but it didn’t touch her eyes. “He had a flare for the dramatic, sometimes.”

“Well!” Victor said, taking the hint when she extracted her hand from his. “Now that’s out of the way—my manor is open to you. I ask that you keep civil to my servants. They are not pleasure-slaves. If you’ve interest in that—there are places I can recommend. I’ll have Inya and Jordon open up the guest wing."


	21. The Alchemist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas/Lavellan  
> \------------
> 
> Eckona just grinned, rolling her eyes. “Go to your room. When Dorian comes back, throw him over your shoulder and take him with you.”
> 
> Iron Bull’s eyebrows lifted. “Is that an order, boss?”
> 
> “Yes.”
> 
> “Can do.”

“Can’t you use magic for this? I mean, isn’t it weird that you could travel Deep Into The Fade and manipulate Rifts but can’t shave your head?” she asked, getting on her tiptoes to lean over his head and try to catch his eye.

He chuckled. “You do not wish to do it anymore?”

“I never said that. Why do you always assume the worst of me?” She smiled at him but it _was_ a question.

“I don’t,” he said, looking mock-surprised. “I have yet to assume you’re going to cut my throat. Or use me and then throw me away.”

She burst out laughing. “Well, the day _is_ still young, Solas.” She winked at him in the mirror.

He smiled, full and bright as sunlight. It took years off his eyes. It made him feel so good and young and _peaceful_. He reached a hand behind him and playfully grabbed at her thigh.

She yelped, laughing and dancing back. “Be careful! I’ll cut your head! And I will feel so guilty—“

“About whoever has to clean it up?” he finished, grinning.

She giggled and came back over to him, sliding in front of him and straddling one of his thighs. She put her arms around him and let their noses touch. She breathed in his scent, it was less peppery right now, fading into something softer, like a spidermum flower. (How interesting. She’d never noticed anyone’s scent _changing_ before.) She could feel how calm he was, how serene, how all his worries were so far away right now. She let her fingers cup the back of his head, smoothing her thumbs slowly behind the base of his ears. She leaned up a little to examine his scalp and smiled, warm and fond. “So…could you actually shave it with magic?”

He laughed softly, grinning at her. “Yes,” he said. “I could.”

She chuckled, not surprised at all. “Then why don’t you?”

He looked a little abashed but was still smiling. “I suppose I like the process. The routine. It’s one thing that doesn’t change. I feel…the same as when I was a younger man, before I could use magic to do it. I was so…reckless, hot-blooded, cocky.” He smiled a little, looking at the floor. “I couldn’t control my power enough to do something as simple as draw a razor. But I could freeze my enemies and shatter them. That is the spectacle of magic. But doing something that requires intense precision—if you don’t want a cut head—requires concentration and discipline. I suppose its reminding myself of the discipline I sometimes still lack.”

She laughed silently, shaking her head.

“What?” he asked, blinking up at her.

She smiled at him, letting herself sit back on his thigh. “I knew you were going to answer like that.” She laughed, pressing her mouth to his and hugging him tightly to her. “Never stop. You make shaving your head sound so poetic.”

He laughed with her and kissed her, pulling her in to smooth along her throat. His fingers curled into her shirt. She pressed up against his bare chest, kissing along the line of his shoulder. He ducked down, kissed her throat and then found her mouth, capturing it. He heard her take in a deep, harsh breath. Losing focus, hands going to her shirt and working it off of her. How she pulled away and stood up in front of him. He hooked his fingers in trousers ties and pulled her closer, working them loose while his mouth found her nipple. Her spine curved into him and he pushed her trousers down and away. She barely was able to kick them off before he had her, yanking her back into his lap, already bare of the towel he’d had. Her arms went automatically around his neck, mouths meeting, feeling sweat slick between them despite the cold breeze of her open window. He was hard against her abdomen and she was more than slick, ready, _wanting_ him. He helped her, hands bracing her hips as she lowered herself onto him. Her fingers gripped tighter, eyes closing as her body fought to adjust, fluttering around him. She was still so _tight_.

She opened her eyes, hazy and dark green, meeting his: churning like a summer storm. He rolled his hips, slowly, up into her. She moaned, pitching forward and burying her eyes in his shoulder. “Oh…” she said, softly. “Solas…”

He held her hips, helping her move, plunging into her core, rolling and hot and deeper when he shifted her hips _like so_ , making her cry out in surprise, in wonder, in exquisite agony.

A hand slid up, cupping and massaging her breast, wrapping his other arm around the small of her back, her nails digging into him, dragging lines up to his shoulders, magic and breath loud and frothing between them—until he came apart, undulating hard, riding through to force her to follow. And she did, muscle bearing down on him, burying her mouth into his shoulder, eyes screwing shut as the sensations racked her body.

She did not move to get off him and he kept his hands at her hips. She leaned on him, breathing hard and curling up to him.

He combed his fingers through her hair. “ _Vhenan…?_ ”

“ _Emma lath? _”__ she answered softly, nosing at his collarbone.

“Where are you?"

“Hmm?” She answered, sitting up with her hands braced on his shoulders. “What do you mean?”

“Where are you?” His smiled gently, as he tilted his head.

“Skyhold?” She answered, looking around them and starting to smile. “Are you setting me up for a joke?”

“You’re not in Skyhold,” he answered, eyes following hers, keeping her eyes on his. “Where are you?”

She drew her hand back to herself, confused. Her right one. Because the left….

She did a double-take, staring at the stump, horrified.

“ _Where_ are you?” He asked again, louder.

“Tevinter,” she said absently, still staring at her stump.

 __“__ Who’s with you?”

Her gaze was dazed as she looked back to him. She looked at her arm, holding out the stump towards him. “My….my…”

“Who is with you?” His hips rolled up.

She gasped—she’d forgotten, he was still _inside_ of her. She strangled a rough groan. “Solas--!”

“ _Who_ is with you?”

She leaned back and then noticed the cuff on the end of the stump of arm. It hadn’t been there before.

“Eckona,” Solas murmured to her, gentle and soft. “Come back. Look at me.”

Suddenly, she clenched her left fist, the cuff sparked and a Fade-arm and hand appeared. She stared at it.

Solas startled. “What—“

And then her eyes changed. No more haze. She was _aware_. She looked right at him. “You’ve done this before. Looked in my Dreams and my memories?”

Something faded from her gaze, as if her mind was fighting to keep herself aware. Her arm sparked out of existence.

Then in a flash, her eyes sharpened again and the Fade-arm reappeared. Her eyes sparked and she looked through him and _into_ him and followed him _back_ to him.

To Fen’Harel standing in the Fade, black hair hanging down to his jawline, except for the top half, which he gathered in a short tail. She knew it was him immediately. How could she not? “Solas!” She reached—

And then he was gone

She jerked awake, flailing when she felt hands on her shoulders. “No! Let go! NO!”

“Eckona! It is—Eckona!”

The Inquisitor staggered and turned and let herself sink back to her knees. “Cassandra?”

“You were having some sort of nightmare again. But this time you tried to get up and run. I had to grab you before you hurt yourself.”

Eckona sat down, leaning against the wall. Her night clothes were sticking to her with sweat. Her hair was frazzled with it. “Solas! It was…it was Solas.”

“Yes—you—called out for him. But that is to be expected—“

“He was in my _Dream_ , trying to ask me questions. He kept asking me where I was and who I was with. Over and over again.”

“Did you tell him!?”

“I told him I was in Tevinter.” She drug her fingers through her hair. “I didn’t realize--but when he tried to ask more—I suddenly…I could see the cuff.” She reached up, touching the cuff that Varric had finally received from Bianca and Dagna. “I—I used it in the Dream and when my hand appeared…I…I was suddenly _aware_ that I was dreaming. I _saw_ him. I saw him—wherever he is _right now_.”

Cassandra grabbed her. “Yes, I see—sit down. You need to calm down.”

“No! No, you don’t understand! He’s done it before! I knew—I knew it suddenly—he’s done it before. Tried to slip into my dreams. And—tries to ask things. Wants information. I don’t know what I could have already told him!”

“Eckona! Calm down!”

“I didn’t even realize it was happening until now—the Mark let me dream with incredible focus but he _knew_ every time I tried to go into the Fade and stopped me. But now that the Mark is gone—I don’t have control anymore.” She breathed in raggedly, heart pounding, frantic and horrified. “I don’t have any control again—I’m—I could have jeopardized—“

Cassandra slapped her.

Her head rocked back, cutting off her words with a resounding crack.

Her friend grabbed onto her face. “Calm. Breath.” She took a deep breath with Eckona and released it with her. “Calm down. We will get the other mages and ask them what to do.” She put her arm under Eckona’s, wrapping it around her ribs and helping her stand.

Eckona held onto her arm. “I….I’m sorry.”

Cassandra shook her head, leading her to a study.

Arlath was there. He stood up, looking at the two of them. “What happened?”

Cassandra helped Eckona sit in a chair. “Where is Dorian?”

Arlath silently turned away and walked out, assumedly to go get the mage.

Dorian appeared a few minutes later, looking disheveled and surprisingly alert for being woken so suddenly. Arlath crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe.

The mage went to Cassandra. “What—“

 

 

“—happened, my lord?” asked Bicken (Minrathous, mining slave), looking uncertainly at Savalas (Fereldan’s Circle, rebel mage).

Fen’Harel sat up in his chair. He combed his fingers through his dark hair. It hit him harder than he thought it would, the way her eyes cleared and she _stared_ through him. _At_ him. She _saw_ him, that was clear. He’d never seen her with the cuff on her left elbow before. That was new. What was it? Where had it come from? Her Mark had allowed her to Dream with more focus and intensity than he’d ever seen in a mage but without it—she was like a child. She flailed in the Dream, caught up in memory and fantasy and terror, unable to take control—there were many with him. It was easy for him to slip into them unnoticed. But when he started to question her, it fell apart. It had taken him a month of questing in her dreams to get a location out of her. He had tried every type; though the lover was most common. But there had been others too—a fantasy she’d created out of a ruin she’d seen, dressed like ancient elves in flowing silver robes and her hair wound in flowers and crystals, and a slender, elegant curved sword in her hand. She practiced amidst floating lights and fireflies, singing trees and tingling magic. He’d appeared to her as an elder, as himself, with long dark hair and a warm smile. The dream was sweet, really, like some young maid becoming nervous in front of someone so high above her and lowering her sword. She’d called him, _my lord_ and he’d offered a lesson. The sword he had was obsidian, mounted with diamond. There was incredible detail in it for it being something in a dream. When their swords struck and whispered together, sliding along razor edges, he asked her the questions. She seemed politely puzzled and then her dream-self seemed to realize something was wrong. Her sword turned into a staff of _his_. She peered at it curiously. And then all at once, they were surrounded. He could tell these phantoms were Venatori, which haunted many of her dreams. And Corypheus, of course, who reached spidery burning fingers into her chest. And everything burst apart. But no awareness.

He tried again another time—bracing himself when he entered her dream. He knew it was a nightmare before he entered. He could feel it. She was tensed and sweating and twitching, crying. She was in some sort of dungeon. Some sort of metal bar had been strapped to her shoulders, forcing her arms out and away from each other. She’d been beaten bloody, staring at the floor and panting as sweat rolled down her neck. She looked up when the door opened and went deathly pale when he entered. _No, not you. Not you too_. But it was him. It had to be. And he had to find her before she found him. He must know what she knew. He must remember, this was a dream. She would know it wasn’t real when she woke. Still, it had been difficult, breaking her right arm, listening to her scream and cry out, watching the blood flow from her nose and mouth, the shaking when he held hot metal to her eye. She still didn’t answer his questions. Still. And in a fit of frustration, he blasted her left arm off and the dream collapsed as she awoke, screaming.

This time—a memory. A sweet memory. It was painful to see it, to play it out, to feel all the sincerity and love and…peace. She had even noticed that the scent of his magic had changed. Solas was metal and pepper. Fen’Harel was spidermums. A change in a person could cause such shifts. Her own scent had changed dramatically after he had left and then again after he took the Mark from her. The lemon was gone. Most of the electric had vanished. Now her magic smelled like moss and cold stone. Like rolling marbles in your mouth. Like you might choke to death. Cold and wet and rotting. But he finally got a location out of her. Tevinter. Of course. It _would_ be Tevinter. Had Dorian gotten her there? If she’d convinced the mage to go back with her, there might be others he would not expect. But then the cuff…

It looked to be some sort of metal and possibly enchanted. Had Dagna made it? Whatever it was—it hadn’t been there at first but when she pulled back and, for the first time, noticed that her left arm was gone…it had been there. And she somehow _invoked_ it in the Dream, just for a few seconds.

The awareness had cut into him like a knife, the horror, the betrayal in her bare face, _You’ve done this before!_ The accusation stabbed him. And then her eyes sharpening and the arm…snapped out of existence and then reappeared and she suddenly had wrestled full control of the dream from him. For the first time, she latched into him and forced her way through his eyes to _see_ him. Her cry of his name, angry and sad and desperate—

He had jerked himself out of the dream.

And for a long moment, he sat in his chair, staring quietly at a bundle of sage that someone had put in his quarters.

Bicken and Savalas had entered to bring him tea and a bit of bread and cheese and both of them had slowed upon seeing his expression.

Savalas tried this time. “My…lord?”

Fen’Harel looked at the tray in their hands. “I apologize. I was searching for something in the Fade. Do not worry—“ he said, raising a gentle hand to ease the stricken expression that sprang to their faces, “—you did not interrupt.”

They both relaxed a bit.

Bicken said, “We…thought to bring you some tea and food, my lord. No one from the kitchens had seen you in some time. They worried you were not eating well.”

Fen’Harel smiled gently and inclined his head. “Thank you for your kindness and forethought. I admit, I may have become sidetracked.”

“You must take care of yourself, my lord,” Bicken pressed. His hands, arms, face, everything was covered in scars from his time in the mines of Tevinter. He’d been forced to mine Lyrium and it had damaged him in many ways.

“My Lord, if you have troubles—we found an alchemist who might assist you. I believe she knows teas and herbs that might clear your mind. Or even milk of Royal Elfroot and Witherstalk to help you sleep, if you needed it? She was very frightened of us at first but she is willing to help.”

Fen’Harel hesitated and then smiled. “I would appreciate that. Thank you. Please send her here when you have a free moment.”

Bicken nodded nervously. “As soon as we can, my lord.”

“Peace, Bicken,” he said. “There is no hurry.”

“You…you been good to me, my lord. You freed me from the mines. I…” he looked down.

“We will bring her, my lord,” Savalas said and she bowed before turning, putting a hand on Bicken’s shoulder and gently leading him out.

Fen’Harel looked at the tea and sighed. He dumped it out in a potted plant of dragonthorn by his window. They were so helpful and kind—he didn’t quite have it in him to tell them how he disliked the stuff.

He nibbled at the bread and cheese they’d brought, pacing around his quarters. The magnificent windows lent him a fantastic view—rather like…the Inquisitor’s room at Skyhold. Large and open like that, with that wonderful balcony and extraordinary view of the snow and sky. It—

There was a light knock on the door.

“Come in,” he called, hands clasped behind his back.

He heard the door open, heard Bicken’s walking-limp (an overseer had hobbled him at the ankle during his time in the mines). “My lord…this is the alchemist.”

Fen’Harel turned. “Thank you, Bicken—“

And he froze, eyes widening. “Minaeve.”

She went white as a ghost. “S-Solas!”

“Solas?” Bicken glanced at Savalas, who was standing in the doorway.

“My lord?” asked Savalas. “Is she…not who you’d prefer?”

“No, she is fine. I apologize. Thank you, Savalas and Bicken. You may go.”

Bicken looked between Fen’Harel and Minaeve and then turned to go with Savalas.

It left him alone with her.

She cowered away from him, backing up, nearly tripping over a chair and scrambling around it. When she reached the wall, her fingers clawed into it. “I—I didn’t know! I’d no idea! They caught me trying to cross the border through the forest east of here—I was alone, I meant no harm—please, Solas. I know you’re—but—I swear I didn’t know! I don’t want to fight. I—“

“Minaeve,” Solas said, gently raising a palm like he were approaching a scared animal. “Please, stay calm.”

Her wide, scared eyes tracked him as he came closer.

“I don’t want to fight,” Solas told her. “I am simply surprised that you survived. They tell me that you are an alchemist—I remember that. We brought you things to research. I know you were peaceful. That you wanted only to study.”

“Y-yes, Sol—er, Lord? Master Solas?”

“For propriety, among the others, _my lord_ will suffice. But between us—I am fine with you using just _Solas_.”

“A-All right…” she swallowed hard, still watching him closely.

“Please, Minaeve. I will not harm you. Bicken and Savalas wanted me to meet with an alchemist. I had intended to be polite but not accept. However, you are different. You’ve studied dangerous beasts, demons _and_ alchemy. I can arrange for you to study to your heart’s content, Minaeve.”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” she insisted.

“You will not,” Solas reassured her. “You will not have to hurt anyone. And no one will hurt you.” He reached out, gently taking her hand. “You can help here in peace. There are no Dalish rules, no fear of mages. We seek knowledge, wisdom and learning here. I seek to give elves like yourself a place where they are free to do what they love.”

She looked at her hand, gently cupped in his, like he might turn into a viper at any moment.

“Do you understand, Minaeve?”

The alchemist looked back up at his face. “I…uh, yes. Yes, I suppose...”

“Good,” he said, still gentle and soft so not to alarm her further. “I will get you a room here in the castle. It will be right next to the library. Would that suit you?”

Her blue eyes flickered nervously around the room. “Y-yes—I mean. Good. I mean. All right. Thank you. Solas.”

Solas released her.

“You….you really _are_ him, then? Fen’Harel—like they all say here?” She asked, voice timid.

“Yes. I am Fen’Harel.”

“But….the Inquisitor and….and the Inquisition….”

He sighed softly. “An unfortunate circumstance. Means to justify the end.”

Her eyes sharpened a little like she might disagree but she didn’t appear brave enough to ask anything further.

“I will have you meet with the other alchemists who have gathered here. You will be an invaluable asset to us, Minaeve. They are researching spirits and demons but they do not have the knowledge that you do. We will need that knowledge soon. So, I would like you to focus on them, if you could. I have many samples of spirit essence, demon claw, and dreamer rags.” His hands clasped behind his back again as he walked away from her, pacing back to his window. “I also have some materials you may not have seen before. Fade-touched plants and minerals, leathers and flesh—“

“F-flesh?” Minaeve startled.

He glanced at the arm encased in its enchanted ice. “Flesh that has physically walked through the Fade. A very limited amount, obviously, but I would like to see what we might discover from it.”

Minaeve’s horrified expression stayed on the arm, knowing whose it must be. She swallowed hard, stomach turning.

Fen’Harel turned back to face her. “I will arrange rooms for you. Come with me.” He walked out of his study, going to his door and opening it, nodding at the two elves who were stationed at the door to his wing. He was resplendent in deep browns and reds, the wolf pelt over his shoulder was black and silver. He did not look nearly as tired as Bicken had described to Minaeve. Still, she could only follow him, shoulders curling in nervously at the curious gaze of other elves that they passed.

They parted for him like water. He did not demand it nor seem to expect it—in fact, a time or two, he made to simply go around someone—but they seemed to always notice and they scrambled back, inclined their heads, one or two bowed, another curtsied. It was always _my lord_ or _my lord, Fen’Harel_ , or _Ma Hahren_ , or even _Fen’Hahren_ , the Elder Wolf, the Wise Wolf. He responded graciously with a nod or a greeting and always, a name. He seemed to know the names of every elf they passed. His responses indicated he knew something about them—gentle and kind to the former-slaves and those of the alienages, composed and confident with the former Circle-mages. And some curious place inbetween to those who came from Dalish clans.

He led her to another door and entered without knocking.

A study sprawled out before them, where an older elf was leaning over a table, examining some maps. He looked up when Fen’Harel entered. “My Lord _Fen’Hahren_ ,” he said, placing a hand on his chest and inclining his head. “What may I do for you?”

“Malit—this is Minaeve. She is a talented alchemist and researcher. She knows much of studying dangerous beasts and demons. I would like her moved here, so that she might stay close to the library. Her heart beats to the knowledge of books and she is willing to help those here.” He turned back to look at Minaeve. “This is Malit, former Keeper of clan Syarp, who brought all of his Dalish here to me. I freed them of the _Vallaslin_ and Malit has shown himself extraordinary in managing the daily affairs of our work here.”

Malit bowed over his arm to her. “It will be done, my lord. We can arrange quarters directly across from the library. You will like it very much, _da’len_. It is a large collection and we are not yet done outfitting it.”

“It should be noted, however,” Fen’Harel went on, “that she once worked for the Inquisition and was brought here, frightened, not knowing we were so close to where she roamed. Be sure to get to know her.”

Minaeve felt her heart go cold. That translated pretty clearly to: _interrogate her_. “I’m not a spy,” she said quickly, cowering away from him again.

“Do not be afraid. I promised that no one would harm you here,” Fen’Harel said. “I simply like to know who my people are.”

“You will not be harmed, my lady,” Malit affirmed.

“I leave it to you,” Fen’Harel bowed his head to Malit, turning and walking out of the study.

Minaeve felt very, very small.

 

 

Varric sat back in a chair. “So, because that cuff uses spirit energy to create a hand for a few seconds…in the Dream it…created a Fade one and made you aware that you were dreaming and you realized Solas was with you. _Actually_ with you.”

“I don’t know how much information he might have gotten from me previously.”

“It can’t have been much,” Dorian reasoned, examining her eyes and then her left stump. “After all, if he was asking who you were with—that means he didn’t know. If he doesn’t know _that_ , than he hardly knows anything.”

“And Tevinter doesn’t tell him much,” Iron Bull added, crossing his arms. “If you hadn’t noticed, Tevinter is pretty damn big. We could be anywhere. He has spies all over—except here. He only has elves and this place isn’t very safe for elves.”

“His spies are no good to him dead,” Cassandra agreed.

“I have to learn to lucid dream. For real this time. The problem for me is always becoming _aware_ that I’m dreaming. If I can learn to activate the cuff as soon as I Dream, then it will help me if he appears again.”

“And maybe see if we can find a way to extend how long the spirit-arm lasts. It only appears for a few seconds at a time. That’s enough to help you open a door or put on your boots—but if you lose the awareness as soon as it fades, then he’ll only have to wait you out. Especially since he _saw_ it and knows it must have something to do with it,” Cullen said.

“Or you have to force yourself to wake up,” Cassandra shrugged.

“That, I can do, I think. Once I become aware, I can usually make myself wake up. I don’t know if there’s a way to trap me in a Dream—but I’d rather not take chances.”

“Rather over-prepare than under—especially when it comes to him, sneaky bastard,” Iron Bull said, unable to help the half-smile in his voice.

They sat in the dining room with the others, everyone quiet a moment as they reflected on Solas. Each missed him in their own way. Even Sera, as much as she enjoyed getting under his skin and vice versus, had to admit that he was fun in his own way. Sure, he was dumb as any other elfy-elf. But he’d been different from them too….at least, she’d thought he was.

“Hunter, your brother can lucid dream.”

Eckona started, looking at Arlath. “What? He _can_?”

“Yes. The Keeper taught him.”

“Would he be willing to teach her?” Cassandra asked. “He seems preoccupied with his clan traditions.”

“I swear if he refuses I’ll slap the shit out of him.”

Cassandra did a double-take at the venom in her tone.

“The guy is your _brother_ , Snow.”

Eckona scowled. “Yeah, maybe one day he’ll figure out what that means.” She huffed and looked at Arlath. “Is there any chance at all of getting him without Uleran tagging along?”

Arlath nodded and left the room.

“What’s the deal with Uleran?” Varric asked, taking out his long pipe to chew on the stem.

“He was…our lead hunter. He was supposed to take me on when I was bound. I was young—I fought him every step of the way. I was so resentful of being bound that…I…I made teaching me a nightmare for him.” Eckona sighed and looked at the table. “Eventually, he separated me from the other hunters. He took Anock and me into the Korcari Wilds without the knowledge of our Keeper. He tried to make us learn to work together—how twins are supposed to. How Dirthamen and Falon’Din did. But…it turned into him just telling Anock why I needed to be bound. That I was wild and angry and incapable of reason, unlike him. I obviously couldn’t function without someone wiser controlling me.”

“This was when you were children?” Varric asked.

“Yes. And well, we were children—our parents had abandoned us, probably got killed in the Exalted Plains or something. Uleran was Marked with Andruil. Anock believed him and…I guess I did too.”

Varric seemed to realize where this was going. He took a fancy pipe from the sideboard and packed it with Antivan Rose tobacco before sliding it over to her.

“When we were small—it was…typical of children. Not really remarkable. We squabbled and fought like all siblings do. But after that—he changed. When I didn’t want to do as he said, he got the Keeper or Uleran. I’d be punished. It happened so much that the Keeper was afraid I’d gone mad and she kept me locked up in the aravels when we traveled. It’s….it’s very dark in the aravels.” She shuddered. “Whenever I was punished, I’d have to go into the bottom of the aravels.” She picked up the pipe and lit it.

_Anock--it's dark. It's dark. It's so dark. Please let me out!_

“Oh—that’s why in the Fade, Coryphucked talked about the dark—“

“Yes,” she said, cutting Sera off. “When I got older, I had become….fearful. As young adults, Anock was bigger than me. He had so much power over me….because the Keeper believed me to be wild, unmanageable. And Uleran encouraged that. So Anock started…when I didn’t want to do something, when I hesitated—well, he started dealing with me himself. He had magic, he had power, he had no boundaries and no accountability.”

“Kids are cruel,” Iron Bull commiserated.

“Yeah. Basically. Only he could use lightening and fire. He did some pretty terrible things—because he could. Because no one stopped him or told him that fear isn’t how you lead people. That just because Uleran said it was all right didn't mean it _was_. But the elves in my clan—my Keeper, Uleran, the others—they was weak. Not willing to cause a fuss.”

“Like so many people in the world,” Cassandra sneered disdainfully.

“Arlath helped me.” She looked down at her pipe. “He was the second to Master Ola—the chief warrior in our clan. I was about fourteen when he came to me one day. Anock had burned all my hair off and locked me in one of the aravels. Arlath came and let me out. He put a hat on my head and bade me come with him. I was terrified of him. Ha, at that time, I was terrified of everyone.” She smiled a little at her pipe. “He said he was not supposed to be helping me—Master Ola had forbidden it. Anyone in the clan could go to Anock and tell him if I did anything they thought was wrong—and he was young, reveling in the power that all these adults were giving him. Arlath had finally had enough.”

Something in Cassandra’s gaze softened a little.

“He took me into the woods with him and actually taught me to use knives. He taught me to hunt and track. He showed me how to use a sword and a bow. We were gone for a few days that first time. When we came back, Anock was furious, they were _all_ furious. Ha, Arlath didn’t care. He stared at them--all of them. He crossed his arms and was just silently daring them to do something about it. In the end, none of them did. I paid for it later, when he went out to protect the Keeper when she had to go speak to some humans. I’m ashamed to say…I called them _shems_ too, at the time. But not anymore,” she insisted, looking at Cassandra, then Cullen, Dorian and Rainier. “But I didn’t care how angry Anock was—for the first time in my whole life, someone stood up for me. I was still afraid a lot and sometimes, even when he was there, he couldn’t help me. But he made time for me. He let me out when they locked me inside the aravels in the dark. He started taking me on his hunting trips. He justified it by telling them that I would be a useless protector if I didn’t learn to hunt or fight. And they had to concede that. He gave me my first bow and a dagger. But he didn’t coddle me either. He knew things were harsh and would continue because it was so unlikely that I would ever get to leave the clan.”

“So why did they send you to the Conclave, instead of Hunter Uleran?” Rainier asked.

“That was Arlath. He insisted I should be allowed to go. I don’t know exactly how he convinced the Keeper—likely drawing on me being expendable. They needed Uleran, ecetera. He told me he’d done it so that I could see some of the world without my brother looming over me. So I was to go out alone and get to the Conclave by the appointed time. I had to check in with a group of dwarves, some were delegates from Orzimmar, some of them were Carta—we who weren’t directly involved with the mages and Templars trying to murder each other but who would be affected by the decisions made there. They sent a bird to the nearest village to my clan, where they had someone waiting to receive word that I’d arrived.”

“Arlath sounds like a good man,” Cassandra ventured.

“He is. I was….when Leliana told me my clan was wiped out….” She looked down. “I…well. I was glad to see him again when Anock arrived at Skyhold. He was like the older brother I’d always wanted.”

“No wonder it’s so odd for Anock. He seems so uncertain around you. And now that he’s technically the Keeper, he’s realizing that using fear doesn’t get you very far in controlling others,” Cullen said. “He doesn’t seem like much of a leader. Uleran hangs around him to guide—but I suspect he’s trying to control him.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” Varric agreed.

“Do you think Uleran could be a spy?” Eckona asked. She didn’t like Uleran but even _she_ didn’t want to think that about him.

“We can’t be certain—best to be careful about him, just in case,” Cullen replied.

The door opened again and Arlath came through, leading Anock. Cassandra eyed him as she stood up. “Sit, Keeper Anock,” she told him, gesturing to her chair. “Your sister needs you.”

Anock blinked at her and opened his mouth to say something but he reconsidered at the look on her face. He sat in Cassandra’s chair.

“Where is Uleran?” Anock asked, voice rather subdued with all the eyes on him.

“Still in bed, likely,” Eckona told him. “We don’t need him for this. I’ll cut to the chase—I need you to teach me how to lucid dream.”

Anock shot a look at Arlath but the warrior simply crossed his arms and said nothing. The Keeper shifted in his chair. “I…all right, so you know that I can but…I’ve never taught someone before. I had difficulty learning myself. I—“

“Look, you know how to do it. No one else here does. So you have to do it.”

Anock frowned. “I—why would you need to learn to lucid dream? The Keeper said that only keepers should—“

“I don’t care what she said. She’s not here. She’s dead.”

“But now that I’m the Keeper—“

“Can you let go of the clan for two seconds? Do you even realize what we’re doing here? It’s bigger than all of us.”

Anock looked uncertain, shoulders curling in to his frame. “I don’t think it's a good idea.” He started to get up.

Cassandra put her palm on his shoulder and forced him to sit again. “We disagree.”

Anock looked up at her, seeing the naked threat in her eyes. He looked back at Eckona, who met his gaze stonily. “So I don’t have a choice.”

“You have a choice,” Eckona said, voice dropping low. “You can choose to do it or you can choose for me to _make_ you do it.”

“With what, exactly?” A familiar look crept into his eyes, a shadow of his old fire and control.

Eckona raised her eyebrows. She put her elbow on the table and gestured to it at large with her pipe.

Anock followed it, where the stony faces of former-Inquisition members looked at him.

Iron Bull grinned and winked. “We might be able to convince you if the lady who took out Corypheus isn’t enough.”

“He’s very persuasive,” Dorian added.

“You’d know,” Iron Bull sniggered.

Dorian stiffened in his chair.

Sera turned in hers. “Uh. What.”

Varric coughed on pipe smoke, leaning over the table and laughing.

Cullen appeared puzzled, looking at Iron Bull, then at Dorian and _then_ coughing hard into his fist.

Anock looked back at Eckona. She was smirking at Dorian but when she turned her gaze back to her brother, her face became stone again. “You decided to come with us. You care about the world, Anock. I remember who you were before I was bound. There’s good in you. Now’s your chance to prove it.”

“I’m not a bad person—“

“Misguided,” she permitted. “But you and I both know how that went. If you are truly hoping we can put our differences aside like you said in your letter—this is the time for you to make good on it.”

Anock shifted uncomfortably and then nodded. “Fine. All right. I will teach you.”

“Dorian can assist with that,” Cassandra said. “And keep an eye on how things proceed.” She made no attempt to cover the menace in her tone.

“I…see. I understand,” Anock said quietly.

“Then we’ll begin tomorrow. You can go Anock. Thank you.”

Anock blinked at his sister’s abrupt dismissal but he said nothing. He stood, nodded to the others and hurried out of the room.

There was silence for a moment.

Then Cole said, “Dorian, you were with The Iron Bull before this. Your hair was rucked and you were afraid but also fascinated and he made you feel like it was all right to be _you_. Sweat in your eyes and breathing stuttered, exhilarating like the best of all magic but painful, there was pain. But it was _good_ and cathartic. It was a release.”

Cullen choked on his ale. Sera burst out laughing. Dorian looked at the table, opened his mouth to speak and then wisely closed it.

Iron Bull just grinned, looking incredibly pleased with himself.

“You all are the worst,” Eckona told them, laughing.

“Any time you want to join in, boss, just let me know.”

Dorian got up. “I. Will. Go to the kitchens and make coffee. Um. Yes. I will be right back. As I imagine you won’t be sleeping anytime soon.”

“Also something we can help with, boss. Or maybe Cullen can help with? I know you two aren't a thing, but there doesn't have to be a thing for you to fool around.”

“Maker’s breath--stop!” Cullen commanded.

Eckona just grinned, rolling her eyes. “Go to your room. When Dorian comes back, throw him over your shoulder and take him with you.”

Iron Bull’s eyebrows lifted. “Is that an order, boss?”

“Yes.”

“Can do.”

 

 

The room cleared out slowly. Cassandra made her way back to the study. Arlath had returned there. She squared her shoulders and entered. He nodded quietly to her. She joined him at the little table.

“Where is Hunter Eckona?” he asked.

“In the library, with coffee.”

They were quiet for a moment.

Then Cassandra said, “She….told us. You were the only one who helped her when her clan was weak.” She felt Arlath pause next to her. “I only wanted to say—I appreciate it. It is very difficult to walk against that kind of current. I hope that you will stay to see this through.” She stood up. “Good night, Arlath.” She walked out.

Arlath watched the door for a long moment after she left.


	22. The Slave Market

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas/Lavellan  
> \--------------------  
> Iron Bull and Solas about his magic: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zxTj8gR9b5o  
> I'm a big language nerd so I translated the Elvish used myself--because there really isn't any kind of extensive documentation about the language that I've found. I used this as a guideline: http://archiveofourown.org/works/3719848/chapters/8237548
> 
> FenxShiral put a TON of work into this, clearly. So show him/her some love.  
> \--------------------
> 
> “Solas, you’re an elven apostate. You’re not a monster.”
> 
> Something in his eyes flared and all at once, he was moving, grabbing her by the arms and shoving her against the cave wall. “And what if I _were_? What if I _were_ the monster hiding under the bed? A shift of wind in the trees? The rattling of bones in your sleep?”

“I’m not sure I can teach you anything that the Inquisition hasn’t already,” Anock told her as the two sat together in a drawing room on the second floor. 

“I’ve been struggling to make myself aware in dreams since the beginning. I don’t know why I have such a difficult time. So I’m willing to try anything you might suggest,” Eckona told him. 

“Where’s the other mage? Dorian?”

“He’s attending to something else.”

“You’ve entered the Fade with Lyrium, right?”

“Yes but….”

He lifted a hand. “I don’t use Lyrium—I never have. So no worries there. That stuff is pretty dangerous. I’ve seen what it does to the Templars. Commander Rutherford still has twitches sometimes. I assume your previous teachers all suggested deep meditation, recognizing symbols to use as unconscious signals, focusing on how you want to dream and recognizing it when it happens?”

“All of the above. I only managed it once—when I had the Mark—which then immediately flared and I had to leave the Fade.”

Anock sat back in his chair, contemplating that. “So those are all the usual mage responses. Your binding is gone, magic is free, the Mark is gone—there should be no reason that you can’t lucid Dream. Unless you let this Solas character do something else to you?”

“What is _that_ supposed to mean?” she asked testily.

“I mean—if he bound you in some other way?”

“Well, you’re the Keeper. You tell me. Do I feel like I’ve been bound in any other way?”

“No,” he admitted. “You don’t.”

Eckona looked thoughtful for a long, quiet moment. “Let’s ask Sera what she would do.”

“Sera? The flat-ear? What would she know about it?”

“ _Don’t_ call her that.” She fixed him with a cold glare as she got up, going to the door and speaking to the runner stationed there. Within a few minutes, the archer entered.

“What is it, yeah?”

“Sit down, Sera.”

“I didn’t do anything—if anything has gone missing, it weren’t me.”

Eckona laughed. She shook her head at her.

“Not….about the….ah. Right. Then. What can I do for you!”

“I have a question for you—it _does_ pertain to magic, sort of.”

“All right, all right—I took it. They were just sitting out. Anyone could have done it. It didn’t have to be me!”

“Sera.”

“I’m sorry, yeah? Look—I’ll—“

“Sera, I thought you said if you lived you’d study magic?”

“Yeah, so? I was lying.”

“You better _hope_ there’s no gods,” Eckona laughed. “Seriously though. I’m not asking you to do any magic. I just need the most opposite perspective.”

“Opposite?”

Eckona drummed her fingers on the table top. “You….are the most opposite person of Solas.”

“Huh?”

“Besides both of you being elves, you are the most opposite of Solas. You’re afraid of magic, he loves it. You use a bow, he has a staff. Male, female—raised in a city versus…wherever the hell he actually came from. He lives in the past—you live in the present. You live in the now.”

Sera looked uncertain until the last part where she finally nodded. “Yeah, that’s me. No better place, innit?”

“Right. So using Solas as a standard…I want the opposite of a mage to tell me what to do.”

“About what?”

“I can’t do something. No—I can—but I can’t figure out how. I want to become aware when I dream—but all the regular techniques haven’t worked. So what would _you_ say, as Solas’ alter-ego.”

_Ha, isn’t that funny. Solas, the God of Rebellion, the Trickster….and Sera…a trickster and rebel…._

That made her look at the floor thoughtfully until Sera spoke.

“I don’t care about any of that. If you wanna do it—you _do_ it. You miss. And then you _don’t_.” She shrugged. “What else is there? Something’s blocking your way, you make it so it isn’t.”

“We can’t just blast the Fade,” Anock snorted.

“You make it too complicated—that’s the problem with mages. Think simple. Stupid Solas made things too complicated and now look at him—gone mad, wants to murder the world. Sorry,” she added, as an afterthought.

“Can’t really argue,” Eckona allowed. “Okay. So. Make it simple. What could be left? What’s the barrier—can’t wake up in the Dream. How do I break it down? The bindings are gone…”

“Well, yours are.”

Eckona blinked and looked at her. “What?”

Sera nodded at Anock. “His ain’t. He’s still got markings on his back. Like yours—only it’s the other one.”

“Dirthaman…” She looked at Anock. 

“No,” he said, standing up to put the table between them. “You can’t.”

“Anock,” she said, standing more slowly. Sera seemed to automatically shift, putting herself between Anock and the door.

“No. The Keeper entrusted me with Dirthamen’s markings. They help me channel magic—“

“From what?” Eckona asked softly, narrowing her eyes.

Anock looked at Sera, then at her. “….from….from you.”

“ _Fenedhis!_ ” Eckona swore, grabbed the table and flipped it. Tea cups, silverware and a vase of flowers went crashing into the floor. “I should have known! I should have fucking _known_ you were hiding something else! Dammit, Anock!”

“How was I supposed to tell you that? You know how often twins are born that _both_ manifest magic? Not very many. So the one that’s bound is a siphon for the other. That way the other’s magic doesn’t act like a boiling pot and burst.”

“I can shoot him, if you want?” Sera offered.

Eckona took a deep breath. She grabbed a chair and almost made to lift it, like she wanted to throw it at her brother. But she managed not to, hoisting it a few inches and then dropping it. “I am so _done_ with these _stupid_ bindings.”

“You can’t remove it.”

“Phht, fucking _watch_ me.”

“You’re not a Keeper.”

“Neither was Solas.”

“He’s an old God—he’s a psychopath that wants to rip down the Veil!”

Uh-oh. _Bad life choices afoot._ Sera took a step back, looking at how Eckona’s eyes narrowed, how everything in her _simmered_.

“ _Don’t_ ,” Eckona growled. “Don’t _even_ act like you knew him.”

“You still loving him doesn’t change anything. You’re just a fool, who is in love with a psychopath who wants to _rip down the Veil_. Do you _hear_ me? Do you _understand_ what that will do? You’re not going to change his mind. He’s insane.”

All her rage and frustration and anger and helplessness boiled over. She grabbed the chair again and threw it at him. 

Then she followed it.

Sera’s hand went to the knob and opened the door so she could step back into the hallway. “Hey, you, runner. Might wanna go get someone. One of the…big ones? Hurry. Mess is about to happen.” She winced when a loud crash resounded from the room. “Er, is happening.”

By the time Iron Bull, Cassandra, and Arlath made it upstairs, the room was mostly demolished. Sera backed away to let the three in. Iron Bull couldn’t help but laugh as Eckona had her brother up against the wall, which was now blood-splattered.

Cassandra didn’t seem to think it nearly so funny. She did pause, however, not looking like she felt all that sorry for Anock. “Ugh, Eckona! Stop!”

She smashed her spectral fist into Anock’s face. His nose burst, showering them both with a gush of blood.

Arlath pushed passed the other two, going to the siblings. He grabbed Eckona bodily around the waist and hauled her up and away from her brother. He swung her around, where Iron Bull was still laughing as he took her in his huge fists.

“Let me go, Bull. Let me _go!_ ”

“I totally would, Boss, but—I _guess_ you shouldn’t kill your brother in someone else’s house. That’s just rude.”

“Don’t let him out of your sight!” She commanded Cassandra from her position, still lofted into the air. She activated her spectral hand again to point at her brother, one hand gripping into Bull’s lower arm. “He’s the reason I can’t wake in the Fade. His is the last binding.”

Behind them, their host, Victor appeared. “What _is_ going on? My house has so much excitement lately. Are you murdering someone in here? You know, you could have _asked_. I have rooms _for_ that purpose.”

“Wow, these Vints have everything,” Bull said, looking approving.

Eckona had both hands digging into Bull’s wrists, breathing hard and furious. 

Cassandra went to her brother and lifted him against the wall. “Is what she is saying true?”

“Yes,” he answered immediately. “Mine has to be removed. It was intended as a last failsafe in case the bound twin—“ he coughed blood up into his sleeve, “—got the binding removed.”

“Can we break it?” Cassandra asked.

“A Keeper can break it—“

“So yes?”

“I don’t know how to break my own! I only learned how to break _hers_. I would never have had a reason to break mine!”

Victor surveyed the scene. The inquisitor captured, held perhaps nine feet in the air by Iron Bull, practically spitting with rage. Her apparent brother, blood-soaked and cowering against the wall. He sighed. “Ah, warm family reunions. So, you both are Dalish elves, right? You need a Keeper? I can get you one.”

Everyone in the room looked at him. 

“Here?” Cassandra asked. “In Tevinter?”

“Yes, of course.” He laughed. “I can’t just walk to the Dales. We don’t have time.”

“How can you get us a Keeper?” Eckona demanded. Though the effect was somehow lost by Bull still holding her above everyone’s heads.

“The slave markets,” he answered, as if they’d asked where to get cabbages.

They all went quiet.

Iron Bull lowered Eckona to her feet. “Means to the end, boss.”

Eckona closed her eyes. 

“I can arrange the trip for tomorrow. Make a day of it,” Victor said brightly. “The markets are a great deal of fun. Food and goods from all over the continent—“

“Slaves,” Cassandra reiterated, glaring at him.

“Oh well, yes, of course. Slaves. From all over. Beautiful, exotic lovelies from Antiva or lithe elves from….” Victor suddenly seemed to remember his audience. “Ah. Yes. Tomorrow then?”

“Yes,” Eckona answered, putting her forehead in her hand.

 

The next day dawned cool and sunny. Nessum was not far from Formaint’s estate. It sat nestled in the bend of a river that stretched from Nevarra, across western Tevinter and nearly to the Anderfels. Anock and Uleran were kept back at the estate, guarded by Cassandra.

Iron Bull went as himself with his Chargers, so best to cement the story that Lord Formaint had hired mercenaries when they drank at the taverns and argued with marketeers. They would also be within shouting distance, if any trouble arose.

Victor and Dorian advised Eckona, Sera and Varric to dress as mercenaries again, which they did. Sera was interested in establishing some Friends in Tevinter. The three let Dorian and Victor lead them through the city.

It was both spectacular and terrible. The arrays of color, the music—it had a smokey feeling to it, something energized and almost sexual to it. But in the very center of the city, was the slave market.

Varric steeled himself, keeping a poker face as he watched dwarves marched through the square. The smell of cooking meat at a nearby booth made his stomach turn. He walked silently with the two elves and the two humans, watching everything around him. It was a beautiful city. And a terrible city.

The slaves seemed mostly listless. Some selling themselves, others captives from skirmishes or war and some, like the elves they saw—undocumented and easy to make disappear. Who cared if a Dalish clan went missing, after all?

“I’m gonna be sick,” Sera scowled. 

“The smell _is_ certainly awful,” said Victor. “So, let us look quickly. Let me speak to the magister in charge.”

Victor went to a hook-nosed man, a few coins exchanged their hands. 

Dorian stayed beside them, looking uncomfortable. 

There was a scuffle in one of the pens—rows of wood keeping slaves in order—a guard cracked his whip. 

“Fucking shit,” Sera managed, voice cracking a little and staring at the dirt. Her magic was churning inside of her—though she didn’t realize that’s what it was. It just felt like anger. Bubbling rage that wanted to lash out and burn everything.

“Take it easy, Buttercup,” Varric murmured. “Just take it easy. Deep breathes, kid.”

“Thank everything we didn’t bring Cole here,” Eckona mumbled, looking at all the dirt and misery and blood and sweat and shit. 

Dorian shifted next to them. “He’s—“ Dorian coughed awkwardly. “He’s asking the man after any Dalish clans. He’s going to lead us to the…pen. Where they keep the Dalish separate from the others. They…he’ll want you to pick. One.”

Eckona slowly turned her head, staring at Dorian. 

Varric nodded. “All right. I gotcha Sparky.”

Dorian looked away.

Victor led them through the tangle of limbs, sickness, and bodies languishing in the sunlight. It had lost all of its coolness. Eckona could feel it burning through her heavy cloak.

Dorian hesitated and then touched the two elves to hold them back. “You don’t have to look….we can…handle it.”

Sera was staring around the pens in horror, staring at the other elves, the humans, the dwaves and Qunari. The mixed bloods, put on display like prized livestock, half human-elves were the most common. Dwarf-elves sold for more if they were slender like elves but small like the dwarves. If they were tall like elves and stocky like dwarves—they were most likely to go to fighting pits or Lyrium mines, especially if they had inherited an inability to use magic from the dwarven side. Qunari halflings of every kind were rarer still. There was a special dais set aside for them.

Human slaves were the most common.

Sera turned away from them, disappearing into the crowd. Running and running and running and climbing up the first booth she found and bounding up onto the rooftops to find somewhere dark and small to hide from all those terrible, sad eyes.

Eckona turned, watching—but did not follow. She looked back to Dorian. “Let’s get this over with.”

She took a breath and straightened her back, walking straight ahead and not turning her face to see the faces watching their progress through the market. 

The Dalish elves were kept in the back, separate from other slaves. Those with magic were separated from their kin and guarded. They were haggard and thin. Eckona looked down a little so her hood would obscure her face. It wouldn’t do for the guards to notice her expression. 

“These are the Dalish—they’re new. They arrived here just two days ago. These five have magic—this is actually a combination of two clans—so there are more mages than normal. They sell for higher price though,” Victor told them. “This lot over here, hunters, warriors, ecetera. But you needed a mage, yes? Former Keeper?” Victor looked to the magister.

He grunted something at the slaves. One of them raised her hand and she stood in front of her kin, straight-backed and glaring at them. 

“You’re the Keeper from this clan?” Victor asked her, as if asking about the weather.

She was ragged, her clothes had been torn to shreds but she held her jaw high and defiant. “Yes. I was the Keeper among my clan.”

“Well, that’s settled then, yes? That’s what we needed, a Keeper?” Victor looked at Dorian, who nodded. Victor smiled at the guard. “That one, then. Send word, should any others come in from Trevis or Solas.”

Dorian cringed. “Solas is a city, northwest of Hasmal,” he murmured to Eckona.

The elven woman was yanked out of the pen. Her eyes glazed over when the guards searched her, hands running over her body. Her revulsion was palpable when they touched her. One of them secured a cuff to her ankles. 

“Bryndis—!” one of the fellow Dalish started—and a guard immediately whipped him.

Dorian grabbed Eckona's cloak before she forgot herself and went forward. “Don’t,” the Altus whispered. “It will only be worse for them.”

Cuffed and chained, the elven Keeper was marched at their side to the edge of the Market. Victor sent a runner to get Iron Bull. He and his Chargers did not seem to have much expression regarding the market. Their faces were like Varric’s, carefully schooled. 

The woman said nothing to them. Her eyes were dead and cold. The ride back to Formaint’s estate was silent. Sera was not with them—and their runners couldn’t find her. Eckona was hesitant to leave without the thief but Varric shook his head. “She needs time. She knows where we are.”

That was true enough, at least. Hopefully, Sera would come back all right.

At the estate, Victor pointed at Dorian. “You owe me now, Pavus.” And then he turned to Eckona. “Well, here’s your Keeper. Use her as—whatever you need her for.”

Victor left the main hall.

Eckona pulled down her hood to look at the Keeper. “I—“

The Keeper’s eyes became steel, hard as flint.

Eckona looked away from her, then back. “Inya—“

The Tranquil, who was standing nearby, approached instantly. “Yes, my lady?”

“Please…um…please open a room for our…friend here. Um. Wh-what’s your name?”

“Bryndis, my _lady_ ,” the slave said stiffly.

Eckona floundered, staring at the Keeper with a mixture of horror and shame. 

Varric stepped forward. “Here’s the deal—we’re obviously not slavers. We’re not Vints. We needed a Keeper who can remove a magical binding. This is the former-Inquisitor.”

The Keeper’s eyes widened. “Eckona of Clan Lavellan?”

“Yes,” Eckona said and then helplessly, “I’m so sorry. I…I don’t know what to…”

Dorian was still avoiding everyone’s gaze. “Give her a moment, Lady Keeper. Some of our party have never seen the slave markets before.”

“So then what? You’ll kill me when this binding is gone?”

“No!” Eckona burst out. “No. No one will harm you. Ever again.” She swallowed hard. “I will get you to the south or you can stay with me or…something else. Anything else. But no one will hurt you. And if anyone does, I will _kill_ them.”

The Keeper looked at the others uncertainly. 

“We…we have to keep you guarded—because we do need you. But—you’re not a slave. You’re not our slave. You’re—just you. You’re you. Just you,” Eckona told her, _needing_ her to understand. 

“Dalish,” Iron Bull said, waving her forward. “Be our new friend’s companion. Go upstairs with her and Inya—make sure she’s treated nice. Get her a bath, good food, clothes.

Dalish inclined her head. “ _Hahren_. I am Dalish with Bull’s Chargers mercenary company. Please allow me to escort you.”

Bryndis looked between them but could do nothing but follow. 

When she was gone, Eckona sat down slowly, putting her forehead in her hand. “That was worse than I thought it would be. I knew it would be bad but…”

“It’s all the eyes…” Dorian murmured. “Once you start seeing them….you can’t _un_ see it.”

“When did you start seeing them?” Varric asked quietly.

Dorian looked away. “I was eight the first time. I tried to ignore it—since that’s what everyone did and I didn’t know the difference. When I was fifteen, I…couldn’t anymore. The screaming at a…” he cut himself off, face becoming ashen. He shook his head. 

“I hope Sera’s all right…”

“She’ll be back,” Varric said, taking a deep breath. “She’ll come back….”

 

 

Two hours later, the Keeper Bryndis was brought to the observatory. Victor had come as well, out of curiosity. Eckona was there with Dorian and Cassandra and Arlath escorted Anock into the room. The blood on him was dried and cracked but he did not seem willing to put up more defiance. 

“You two are twins? Both manifested?”

“Yes,” Eckona told her. “His binding is keeping me from Dreaming.”

“Was your _Valleslin_ really removed by…” her eyes flicked to the humans around them, “…by the apostate?”

Eckona nodded. “It was. He removed it.”

She peered at Eckona, eyes sharp. “That…would make him….”

“Fen’Harel. Yes.”

The Keeper shook her head. “The world we live in,” she said softly. “All right. Bring the brother and have him lie down. Remove your shirts, both of you, and lay on your bellies.”

Eckona removed her armor and pulled off her shirt, gathering it over her breasts as she lay down on her front.

“Do not harm them,” Cassandra warned in a low growl. 

Bryndis shook her head. “I won’t. There’s no point to that. It’s no business of mine why they want to be separated. We don’t practice twin-binding in my clan.” The Keeper slashed her own hand, slashed Eckona’s palm and Anock’s as well. The blood thickened, pooling over Anock’s spine and running down his ribs as she outlined his markings of Dirthamen with the blood. 

“Blood magic…” Dorian said softly in wonder. “It’s a form of blood magic.” He threw his arms up, turning away. "Of course it fucking is!"

"It is _always_ blood magic, it seems," Cassandra grumbled.

The Keeper repeated the process, trailing the blood in an estimation of the markings of Falon’Din on Eckona. She folded her hands in a curious pattern, fingers hooking together and pointer fingers outstretched and touching at the tips. 

The blood swarmed and swirled and _burned_ into their skin. Anock grunted and Eckona’s fingers curled into the table. There was a ripple in the Fade and then a _snap_ and just like that—the binding was gone. 

Anock shuddered hard, pain shooting up his spine. His tattoo faded into his skin.

Eckona sat up, pulling her shirt back on. “Finally. Let’s get this show rollin.”

 

 

 

 

“You've got an odd style, Solas. Your spells are a bit different from the Circle mages or the Vints.”

Solas shrugged. “That comes from being self-taught. I discovered most magic on my own, or learned it from my journeys in the Fade.”

Iron Bull looked sidelong at him, “I've seen self-taught warriors. Even the good ones have something awkward in their style, something that clunks. I don't get that from you. Maybe magic is different.”

“Or without magical training, you cannot notice the parts of my magic that ‘clunk’,” he said, tone shifting into something terse and sharp.

"Can you _not_ be an arse for two minutes?" Sera rolled her eyes.

Iron Bull raised an eyebrow. “Or you’re lying about being untrained?”

“Did one of your choiceless drones from the Qun mages give you that insight?”

"Solas...he was only asking. It was a complement from a sharp eye," Eckona said, looking at him curiously.

Solas did not look at her. "He is a spy. I expect he'd have sharp eyes."

"No, she was right. Just the one eye." Iron Bull smiled. He certainly did not appeared humbled. He was peering at Solas with an eerie intensity. 

"Ha, well, we could always ask Dorian? He has magical training," Eckona said, attempting to ease the sudden tension in him.

Solas scoffed softly. "Dorian's style so differs from my own, I imagine he would not have the knowledge adequate, either."

Eckona blinked. "Solas..."

Dorian snorted. "Well, clearly we lesser mortals need not even learn magic, I suppose?"

Solas shot him a dark look, something accusatory in it--though Eckona wasn't certain what to make of it. Almost like he was hearing something else.

"Oh. Bit sensitive about that, are you? Why is that, Solas?"

Solas stopped walking, the blue in his eyes sparking like lightening. Dorian took two steps more before he seemed to feel it and then he stopped as well, sliding one a foot behind him, hand going to his staff.

Iron Bull stopped, watching the two of them, silent. Sera’s eyebrows went up, surprised.

Eckona lifted her hands. "Guys..."

"Would you like to test all your Tevinter magic and stolen techniques on a real _elven_ mage and not the shadows of cast-off relics that you'll call anyone who flails a staff. Would you like to see what can happen when a mage of skill and ability _properly_ utilizes what your ancestors polluted?"

"Oh my," Dorian told him, smiling at him but his eyes were sharp, watching him for a hint of movement. "Is it dizzy up there, thinking so highly of yourself?"

"What would you know of the despair of my people? Slaves are nothing to you. You bind spirits as your servants. You have no respect for anyone or anything that you consider beneath you. And you seem to consider a great many things beneath you, Dorian."

Dorian's shoulders shifted again, easing his head down and peering at Solas from the side. "I left my homeland. That's why I'm here," he reminded him, losing the laughter in his tone.

"It is because of ones like _you_ that I have no homeland."

"I'm sorry, _you_ have no homeland? Why just _you_ , Solas? Why not to the other two elves here? Was it difficult being so naturally gifted that opportunities sought _you_ at every turn. While those two lived as outcasts and would never be awarded the same privilege?"

Something flickered across Solas' face, cracking through his eyes. 

"What do you say, Solas? They can hear you." Dorian nodded to Sera and Eckona. "Is it only _your_ homeland because you look down on them because one lived among humans and the other was Dalish--I imagine my friend, the Inquisitor, would be interested in knowing your answer to that. Or is it only _your_ homeland because you only think of yourself? Neither really puts you in a great light, my friend. I think very highly of myself and even _I'm_ offended." 

There was a bubble of silence, the split second before a crack of thunder, thick and swelling--

Bursting as Solas flipped his staff and tore into the Fade, pulling it around him to--

Eckona dodged in front of him, grabbing onto his staff and shoving it above them. She could feel it vibrating with heat, power, _anger_. Her other hand went to his chest. " _Solas mala melin, Tel'solasan ish emathelan vhenes._ "

She felt his hand loosen around the grip of his staff. Felt the edges of the Fade he'd wrapped around the blade slowly dissipate. His eyes tore through her, fire and flashing lightening and rolling waves. And then he took a deep breath and broke his gaze. All the magic around him fell away like a mist. Eckona put her hands in his cloak and turned him towards her, shooting a glance at Dorian before putting a hand on Solas' lower back and leading him away from them. 

"What'd she say to him?" Varric asked.

Sera huffed. "Solas is your name, not who you are. Blah blah."

"That can't be what she said. There were too many words."

"Ugh, elvish is stupid, like--look—it’s really winding and stupid, the first bit's the same. Solas is your name. Blah Blah. What she said, literally is _but not in a place of pride is he who holds my heart_. Blah blah. Because _solas_ is the elvish word for pride. Can't make this stuff up. See. She used like--a double-name thing. Double-meaning whatevers."

Iron Bull chuckled. "When are you gonna tell them that you speak elvish?"

Sera snorted. "Phht. Never. Do you _know_ how much they talk about in Elvish? Sometimes it's _filthy_."

Varric looked at Dorian. "Sparkler? Y'all right? You two were about ready to really start some shit."

Dorian relaxed very slowly, drawing in a quiet breath. "He...." And then Dorian made himself smile. "...he seems different today. A bit more on edge, yes? Did someone piss in his morning tea?"

"Maybe the Inquisitor can inquire."

Dorian looked at Sera. “I am sorry I said that—it was thoughtless of me—I know you don’t care much about the heritage of Elven culture…”

Sera shrugged. “Bout time someone said it to him. I don’t mind so much when you do it, Dor. Also, whatever talent he has—you could prolly match. You work hard at it, yeah?”

Dorian blinked at her and then smiled gently, something flitting through his eyes like raindrops scattered to the breeze. “Yes. Thank you, Sera.”

 

 

 

"Solas--please talk to me. What is wrong?"

"I'm sorry. I let Dorian get under my skin." He looked frustrated with himself. "It was my fault. I will apologize."

"Solas--that's--you've seemed kind of tense today. All day. Not just now."

"I...have dreams here that are...unpleasant. The Emerald Graves are full of memory and...sometimes they take on things from my own mind."

"Then teach me how to become aware when I dream--and maybe I can help."

"No, I can't do that," Solas told her, touching her face. "Corypheus will know if you enter the Fade by dreaming. He could use it to his advantage if you opened your mind like that in the Fade." 

She frowned at him. “You can’t protect me from Corypheus.”

Something shifted in his eyes and he looked away. “….no, I cannot.”

“Solas…” she said, watching him pace in the mouth of a small cave they’d passed earlier in the afternoon. 

“ _Vhenan_ ,” he said, sharply, curtly. “I have seen this all before! I have seen the fights and impossible odds and all the pain that those involved experience. I have seen noble warriors in the Fade from every corner of Thedas. I saw my people rise and—“ he paused and then looked over at her, “—I know they are not just _my_ people. I….have become accustomed to thinking of myself as a singular—from all the time I have spent alone, wandering the Fade. I thought myself very…open. Perhaps I am not as impartial as I believed. Of all the years I have wandered and watched in the Fade…there are still times when I experience new things. Dorian is a clever mage. He is very talented. That he is so proud of his talent seems strange to me—but when I was a younger elf, I was much the same.” He stopped, putting his hands on his hips, back to her as he looked into the cave.

“Dorian is an apostate, I suppose, just as I am. He left his home, as I did, hoping to make it better one day. He acts the way he does to cover a lifetime of sadness that all the things he’d been taught to believe were wrong. He has no one, except the Inquisition. Maybe…” he looked at his boots, then back into the darkness. “Maybe he and I are not as different as I imagine.”

Here it was—this _beast_ he kept locked up inside of him. He tried to hide it. He’d done it since the day he’d met her. This was the nature of it, something intense, wild—but not mindless. Something practical. Something restrained, though. Whatever he was hiding—that was the source of whatever was paining him now. She felt it, could see it. But…

She approached him, very gently touching his elbow. 

He looked down at her and his eyes were full of that soft sorrow, face pinched and hollowed by…by whatever this _something_ was. 

“What about Iron Bull, Solas? When he said—“

“He is observant, yes,” Solas allowed, and all at once, the tension was back. “But he is wrong. He will never see the world through unshadowed eyes. The Qun will always be there, attempting to guide every assumption, every crystal clear night sky, every individual thought. Does someone from a life like that know passion? Know commitment? Know love or hate or all the other things which make our lives what they are? Does he know true fear?” He looked back into the cave, like he was seeing something she couldn’t. “And yet, he went against the Qun to save his mercenaries. He is capable of thought, he’s not a mindless beast and yet…”

“He did not insult your ability,” she said carefully.

“Exactly,” he snapped. “He says it is perfect—he who has no training in magic—but still trying to see something of suspicion in me.”

“Since when do you care about _anyone_ being suspicious of you?”

He looked at her, then at the ground, seeming furious with himself. Then he took a deep breath. “I….did not. I never did. Not until you.”

She stood next to him quietly, holding her left elbow with her right hand. “It is difficult to learn to trust friends when you’ve spent so much time alone. They know that it’s difficult for you.”

“Do you know?” He said, voice strangely level, quieter.

She looked over at him. 

“Do you?” he asked again, turning to face her. “Do you know how much I’ve had to do to get to this point?”

“No,” she answered, honestly. “I don’t. You’ve never told me.”

“Then how would _they_ ever contemplate!” He threw his hands up, stalking around the mouth of the cave, leaning against the wall, then pacing again. 

She followed him inside. “You’ve never told me or anyone else, Solas. They have experiences that I don’t, at least. My being an elf doesn’t really outfit me with ways to identify with you besides the pointed ears. If you don’t want to share anything then we have to come up with other ways.”

He gave her an odd look, one she couldn’t really interpret. Like he was furious and caged and simmering but also something disturbed, distressed, distraught…

“But Dorian and Iron Bull, Blackwall, even Vivienne and Cole—especially Cole, they see things in you that I cannot.”

“They see only what they _wish_ to see.”

“Then what do you _want_ them to see? The nomad apostate, the wandering sage, or something else? Do you want them to see how passionate you are about what you think and feel? Do you secretly want them to see you as…a person? But you feel like you can’t let them?”

He crossed his arms severely, looking into the dark. “….perhaps.”

“Why can’t you let them?”

His mouth opened and for just a second, he looked like he might tell her. And then he looked down. “I’m sorry. It was unworthy of me to react as I did. Nearly fighting over a perceived slight is not…usually something I would do.”

“I know,” she said gently, slipping up behind him and touching his spine. “They know that too, Solas. You don’t have to worry.”

His hand went to his forehead, then away, still seeming agitated. “I needn’t have to worry at all. Their opinions don’t matter.” He turned, looking down at her

“Solas, you’re an elven apostate. You’re not a monster.”

Something in his eyes flared and all at once, he was moving, grabbing her by the arms and shoving her against the cave wall. “And what if I _were_? What if I _were_ the monster hiding under the bed? A shift of wind in the trees? The rattling of bones in your sleep?”

Her fingers latched onto his wrists, feeling his dig into her upper arms. 

“What if everything you thought you knew was wrong? What if everything I’ve done really was as horrible as—as any Chantry cleric would teach? Then what? What if _I_ were like Corypheus?”

She kept her eyes on his, seeing how they were churning. “If you were like Corypheus….well, you would not look nearly as good in that armor I got from the Dalish for you.”

A breath escaped him and something in his eyes softened. “Perhaps I’ve corrupted it for you, then.”

“That happens to all our shells that we wear out in the world. You know what we do with them?”

“What?”

“We launder them. A lot.” She half-smiled. “Maybe yours needs a polish sometimes but that’s all right. Two sets of hands make the job go faster, right?”

And finally, the tension eased from his face. His hand left her shoulder, touching her jawline. “Yes…” he murmured softly. “It does…” He pulled her to him, burying his nose in her white hair. He covered her, arms wrapped around her and over her like he could absorb her into himself. 

And then he pushed her back and kissed her, unleashing all his pent up frustration and anger and energy and everything else on her. Letting it translate into a possessive, fiery touch, an immolation of intensity, of drive that burned away all the breath in her lungs and had her gasping as he jerked the strings of her trousers loose and turned her around, shoving her against the rock wall. She felt dust settle on her hair, grabbing into the stone and feeling him—hot and tense and the edges of his control fraying as he nudged between her thighs and sunk into her heat. 

He kept hold of her hips until he got the rhythm, punishing, burning into her and then they moved, both palms sliding flat up the front of her shirt, uncoupling buttons and loosing leather throngs enough to get to bare skin. One hand went to her breast, using it to hold her to him. The other hand meandered, sensual, up her abdomen, sliding over her ribs until he reached her other breast, cupping it and kneading the nipple in his fingers.

Her spine arched, unable to move more than that, pinned to the wall of the cave. She endured the onslaught, a hand going behind her, cupping the back of his neck. She felt dust and dirt, disturbed from the cave walls, sticking to the sweat that was breaking out on her skin. He grunted in her ear, pushing harder, slamming up into her—the slap of bare skin was lewd and hot and—

His hand slid down to her entrance, finding the nub between her folds and gliding slowly over it. She cried out, strangled, feeling her muscles spasm and sputter, clenching around him. Her fingernails dug into his neck.

When she came apart, she gasped brokenly. Her back arched, every muscle tensed and he grabbed one of her trembling thighs as she struggled to keep standing. He lifted it high, forcing her onto the toes of her other foot and pushed her closer to the wall, bracing her on it and shoving into her harder. He hit her deeper, body still fluttering in the aftershocks, revving up again to try to keep pace with him.

 _”Eckona,”_ he managed. “I am not—“ and then climax hit him like a brick wall. He groaned, long and loud, fingers tightening into her with bruising force. He buried his eyes into her shoulder, hips jerking instinctively as he rode it out. 

He lowered her leg so she could touch the ground again, staying inside of her as he leaned forward. He braced his elbows on the wall on either side of her head, breathing hard into her ear. “I….had forgotten what it was like….,” he murmured, “…to feel things so intently. All my time in the Fade…I saw reflections of feelings…they are never as…as _real_ as they are on this side…”

Her hand left the back of his neck, falling to the stone wall and then slowly going to one of his arms braced next to her ear. She curled her fingers around his bicep. It took him a few moments to pull back, gently easing out of her, setting their clothes to rights and taking her fingers in his own. “I…” he looked at her uncertainly. “I…am so—“

She touched his lips with her free hand to silence him and shook her head. She urged him to sit and then drew him to her, resting his head in her lap. If he’d had hair, she’d have combed her fingers through it but he did not, so she gently skimmed over his ear and scalp, soothing. He was tense at first, relaxing slowly as she did not stop her caress and exhaustion took him over. He drifted into a quiet sleep, for once feeling no urge at all to enter the Fade. 

The sun fell, darkening the cave in increments. As nervous as the dark made her, she refused to move while he slept. She stroked his scalp until she dozed off, her left hand cupping the vulnerable back of his neck while her right came to rest on his ribs, protective of him. 

 

 

_Wow._

Dreaming with this kind of intensity was....truly incredible. She slipped into the Fade with a thought. The detail was amazing. Everything recalled around her from her memory and she could shape everything around them like clay. She knew immediately why Solas loved the Fade. The rush of intensity and feeling and _watching_ it happen, absorbed by her memory, by spirits, by the Veil that held everything together. It was incredible. 

All of a sudden, she smelled spidermums. The back of her neck prickled and she turned, slowly.

"Did no one teach you to watch for demons in the Fade, _Vhenan_?"


	23. Stage of Grief : Anger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There is a lot more anger in you than when we last met.”
> 
> “Huh, I wonder why that would be,” she said, lifting her eyebrows.

"Cassandra--I just had a thought."

"Yes, my friend."

"You said you read that the Vigil was just them making you Tranquil and then when your time was up, they made you normal again, right?"

"In so many words, yes."

"But you said there were failures. There were seekers who failed their Vigil. If they were made Tranquil, how could they _fail_?"

Cassandra visibly startled, a stricken looking going through her eyes. And then she looked at the ground. "Was it...some sort of weeding out? Of those deemed unworthy? They would...what would they do with them? Would a seeker going through the vigil think the feeling I felt...the purity of my faith....did they feel the same thing and think they were simply...simply waking up again. Simply ending their Vigil? Or did they feel nothing like I felt when my Vigil ended? I called that feeling...the purity of my Faith...but...but....what if it all interpretation. What I assumed?" Cassandra sat down slowly, staring into some deep abyss. "I had friends, some very dear to me, that failed their Vigils. Some of them I never saw again...I wonder now if they were taken. Perhaps even killed. While I reveled in the feeling of what I thought was faith?"

Varric made a disgusted sound. "Religion always shitting up everything."

Eckona watched Cassandra's eyes glaze over, sinking deep into herself. Oh boy. That was a dark place for Cassandra to be. Not good. "Um, why don't we go to an inn?" She suggested, watching Cassandra carefully. "Actually. Why don't we all just pack it up and go back to Skyhold. I think we need a break...."

"Between this and Solas and Dorian almost kicking the shit out of each other on the side of the road--I agree," Varric told her.

 

 

 

 

 

Eckona turned around.

He stood before her, dark hair reaching passed his shoulders now. It was bound loosely with a piece of leather. He was dressed in rich blue robes, trim and elegant. She was shabby in comparison, torn leathers and threadbare shirt and boots. Her cuff was dulled in the dim light of the Fade without the ethereal arm active. She wiped a smear of dirt from her cheek with the back of her hand.

“You struggle.”

She rolled her eyes.

“There is a lot more anger in you than when we last met.”

“Huh, I wonder why that would be,” she said, lifting her eyebrows.

He peered at her, hands clasped behind his back and walking to her. He circled. She did not move. She put her hand on her hip and tracked him by sound. He shifted up behind her like a ghost and touched her silver hair in its plait hanging down her back. “Guide me to you, _Vhenan_.”

She felt his hands settle on her shoulders. “Why?” she asked softly, furrowing her eyebrows. _What is he…._ And then she blinked. _….he thinks I’m asleep. He doesn’t know I’m aware._

“I feel your heart beat faster. I know what you desire. I am close to the Orb I seek. I can give you what you want if you show me where you are.”

She felt his nose brush against her throat, mouth skimming up her ear. 

“Is this all everything was worth to you? To manipulate me into doing what you want?” 

She felt him recoil. 

“No—“ he put a palm on her shoulder and turned her to face him. “No…what we….” He sighed. “I know you wish to see me again, as I wish to see you.”

“I wish to see _Solas_. You are not him.”

“I am—are you not Eckona, though you are also Inquisitor?”

“I’m not Inquisitor anymore.”

“It is still a part of you. That is who you will be to history.”

“Well, between people, you can’t have both. It’s not as though you were Solas before Corypheus and only afterwards became Fen’Harel. You were Fen’Harel the whole time. You pretended to be Solas for us. For me.” 

Something passed through his eyes. “You have…turned your pain into armor.”

“Just as you advised, right? So that you could be sad about leaving but not have to actually deal with the consequences of your betrayal.”

His jaw tightened. “The People need me, _Vhenan_.”

“ _I_ needed you,” she spat and then scowled, looking away and shaking her head. “And why are you still calling me that?” She fought to keep her voice steady. “Why do you call someone who you plan to kill, your ‘heart’?”

He looked down. “Because you are.”

“So will you die as well when you bring the Veil down?”

His eyes went to hers, then away.

“So no, then? You won’t die but I probably will.”

“Then come to me. Put aside your weapons and armor and join me.”

“And what about the others?”

He looked into her face, silent.

“I won’t. I can’t. Let everyone die for misplaced love? How selfish would that be? I would never forgive myself.”

His grip tightened in her shoulder. “If I could make you see—“

“No. You don’t want to make me _see_ anything. You want me to _submit_. Because it’s easier than facing who you’ve become. I love Solas. If he ever comes back, I’d love to see him again.” She turned away from him, pushing his hand off her shoulder to walk away.

“ _Vhenan_ \--“

She whipped around, anger flaring. “Don’t _say_ that--“

Solas looked back at her, eyes soft and thoughtful. The tunic, the jawbone, the open boots that always made her worry about his toes, the green leather trousers. Even the staff he’d favored. 

“You….you…” she grit her teeth. “You…asshole.”

He advanced on her. “You’re _aware_ , aren’t you?”

She took a step back, cursing herself for playing right into it. 

“I thought something seemed off. I can feel the shock it gives you to see me in this form. How did you do it?”

She intended to say…something. Something sarcastic or smart. Nothing came. 

She looked into his face and felt the Fade start to shift, start to mold to her thoughts—and she jerked back and vanished from the Fade.

One for him.

 

 

 

“Boss, seriously.”

“No.”

“Just hear me out.”

“No, Bull.”

“Boss.”

She crossed her arms, looking sidelong at him. Then she sighed. “What?”

“It’s hard to get laid without a willing participant. I found a place in Nessum. It’s really nice, drapes on the windows, incense, it’s real clean and they have men there. I had Skinner, Krem and Dalish go in and check the place out. They were treated with respect, they said it didn’t smell hardly at all.”

“Bull…” Eckona groaned, putting her forehead in her hand.

“They have guys Cullen’s size to others about the size of Cole.”

“Please do not _ever_ bring up Cole in a way that relates to sex. _Ever again_.”

Bull did not appear to hear her. “A lot of ‘em have the dark hair and dusky skin—cause they’re Vints but there are some southerners too. Skinner said they have a training program for new guys and everything.”

“I’m not going to a brothel.”

“It’s not a big deal, boss. It’s just sex. It doesn’t have mean anything. It’s good exercise.”

She looked at the floor. 

“All right. Here then. If you ever decide to take a look. It’s called the Spice Lotus.” Bull put a slip of paper in front of her where the name was written with an address. “Ask for Matleen. She owns the place.”

When he walked out, she looked at the piece of paper for a long moment and then she snatched it up, curled it into a ball and stuffed it into her pocket. She went to find Cassandra. 

The woman was with Arlath, which surprised her. The two seem to have forgone using the practice dummies and were hammering at each other. His axe smashed down on her shield and she used the momentum to whirl around him, slamming the guard into his back. Arlath staggered, turning with both palms on his axe grip, holding it up in time for her to bring her sword down on it. 

It locked them together for a moment, wherein the two warriors eyed each other—and then he whirled his axe shaft. It locked around her sword, ripping it from her hand and sending it flying across the yard. Cassandra snarled, bashing him with her shield, turning with him—like a dance. Cassandra could see the flecked grey of his eyes flicking around her, searching for an opening. He was probing, using the staff of the axe to test. 

She blocked, easily and then her left fist lashed out, gauntlet tearing across his face in a brutal backhand. For just a split second, she felt her belly tense—afraid she might have actually harmed him. But he simply backed up a few steps. His face was scratched and bleeding but he did not seem distracted by it. He did let his axe drop to the ground, though. He would grapple instead.

Cassandra circled. Elves were typically willowy and slender—Arlath was the exception. He was a little taller than she was and broad shouldered. His arms were hard as wood and powerful. Getting in too close to him would be a mistake. He used his battleaxe like Dorian flipped his staff. He was clearly extremely strong. Not like Iron Bull but still, strong.

He was _fast_ too. She had to keep on her toes now that he’d dropped his axe. He did not try to rush her like Bull would have. Bull could use his massive size to overwhelm anyone. She and Arlath were too similar in stature. He dodged in at her, instead—a quickness Cassandra was used to seeing from Cole or Sera—not a warrior. He grabbed for her arm—caught—started to pull her in. She slammed her shield into him, throwing him back into the ground.

The dirt was churned up around them. Cassandra shifted her feet, watching him get up slowly. And then all of a sudden, _not_ -slowly—he whirled, throwing dirt into her face. She raised the shield automatically and then braced—but he did not attack. He went around, sliding behind her and grabbed her arms—

She dropped her shield and elbowed him hard enough to down a gorgut. 

She heard him grunt but instead of letting her go—he planted his boot into the back of her knee and let himself fall. Her leg collapsed and the two fell in a heap. Scrambling for purchase on armor and leather, Cassandra flipped onto her front and tackled him, curling a leg around his hips and taking the dagger he had sheathed in his boot. She pressed it against his throat. 

For a long moment, the two of them eyed each other. Cassandra felt his grip loosen in her armor.

“I yield,” he told her, quietly. His hands stayed floating above her armor. 

Her right hand had the knife, pressing the dagger to his neck. Her left hand had curled into his hair, cupping the back of his head. They were both covered in dirt and sweat and a blood. It gave Cassandra that hazy-eyed feeling she got in combat sometimes. The bloodlust, her trainers called it. Where everything narrowed down to instinct and intuition. 

“Cassandra,” he said quietly. “Come back.”

She startled, taking in a breath and jerking back. “I am sorry. I sometimes become very intent when fighting.”

“You throw yourself into combat,” he said, helping to ease her off of him and watching her sit down beside him. 

“They say it will be the death of me,” Cassandra smiled a little, pulling a gauntlet off and starting to work on the other. 

“Only if there are more than three against you,” he told her as they sat together in the dirt, removing his own gauntlet. 

“You are being kind.”

“No—you would wear down another warrior, a rogue would have a difficult time getting knives into you—what you lack in speed, you make up for in power.”

“Speed is my nemesis,” Cassandra huffed, half-smiling at him.

“Shields are mine. I become frustrated and reckless when I cannot get through a shield.”

“Then perhaps we can help each other.”

Eckona tilted her head but stayed hidden by the corner of the building. It was…kind of sweet, really. Cassandra had a beautiful smile. It was sharp as the rest of her and very rare but…every time she smiled, it touched her eyes. She could not fake a smile. Every time she did, it meant something.

Maybe she…could talk to Cassandra later. She slipped away from the practice area.

 

 

Dorian was eight years old the first time he saw a slave’s eyes for what they were. Listless, sad, and empty—the moment would stay with him all through his life. His mother dragging him through the markets by his hand. They were late for something—something political.

“Come Dorian, why must you always dawdle. Your father will be shamed if we are late.”

But little Dorian loved the marketplace. With its smokey incense and street music, performers and fire-breathers and throngs of people. There were always lots of people in the center of Qarinus. People everywhere. People from all over Thedas. People in gold dappled robes and jewels, silver swords and solid diamond gauntlets. There were women with scarves dancing and children play-fighting with sticks. There were priests with bells and bowls of ash and pipes—long and ornate—the thin yellow smoke that told of hash, blended with Embrium to put a buzzing spark on the tongue. There were languages from all over, more than he could count (and he could count, he assured his family’s servants, he could count very high). 

His mother jerked him by the arm when his eyes lingered on a stall covered in belts of gold-plated dragonscale. And then she made a disgusted sound, “Emtae—take him.” She shoved Dorian between his little shoulders and he bumped in Emtae, who grabbed him. 

She was a southerner and his nanny. She taught him the common tongue and numbers and letters. She taught him stories and tales about the elves and the fall of Arlathan. She patted his cheek and comforted him when he became sad about the destruction of the elven city and the fall of their empire. But his mother did not allow Emtae to get _too_ close. She wasn’t Tevinter, after all. Too much cultural bleed could be a bad influence. So every other day, Lady Pavus took her young son to watch the Magisterium proceedings—but today, she just couldn’t be bothered with it. She strode off in a hurry to the Magisterium.

Emtae gently took Dorian’s hand. 

This was when the poor little dear seemed happiest. Dorian was such a kind child. He wasn’t prone to fighting or bickering. He was headstrong, yes—but never cruel. He had no siblings and no children his own age to play with and so he was constantly alone with servants. He became very attached to them, giving them all little nicknames and telling them little jokes and showing them what his teachers at the Circle of Carastes were teaching him about magic (which they then all pretended to be impressed by, no matter how many times they’d seen him create an explosion of butterflies from his hands). 

Emtae knew he was accustomed to being brushed off by his mother and father. He hardly seemed bothered when his mother shoved him away. Perhaps it was kinder but it was a telling sign—there was hardly any love from the parents to their little boy. They didn’t even like each other—so perhaps it was to be expected. Still, Dorian was a darling and promised to be a charmer one day. He loved sneaking into the kitchens to help with chores—or to make a mess. That was almost better because then they’d shoo him away to the wash room. And inevitably, the rest of the staff would come in to tiny Dorian arranging a little version of the parties he’d seen his parents throw. Tea cups and glasses spread in an oval and a spot for every kitchen hand and servant. He was so proud when he could stand tall—his black hair curling up in a cowlick—and tell everyone where to sit. 

“There are two seats left, Master Dorian,” Jera said. He gestured to the two chairs at the head of the table. “Sit with us?”

Dorian shook his head, smiling. “No, no, those are for mama and papa.”

“Then where will you sit, dear?” Emtae asked.

“I don’t. I have to go to my room. But you all will have fun and at the end of the night, you let me out again.”

The table went silent.

Dorian beamed at them. 

Emtae felt something in her cold heart break. This child had privilege at every turn. Money, status, titles and land but he had no love. 

So on days like this, when Lady Pavus shoved her little boy away, she was glad to take his hand. She bought him a pastry at a stall and they walked together while he ate it. 

“Why did the man at the stall call you _knife-ear_?” he asked her, peering up with his big grey eyes.

Emtae tensed a little and knelt to him. “It is a word made for someone like me,” she explained. “Because I am an elf. It is considered….unkind.”

“Then why would he say it?”

“Because…some people are just like that, Dorian. They dislike elves, and others, without knowing them.”

The child looked thoughtfully at his feet as they walked. “But your ears aren’t like knives at all. They’re soft.”

“Even at the points?” she asked him.

“Even there!” he declared, as if that made it so.

“Thank you, little Master.”

Dorian smiled at her but as they passed the market square, his eyes were drawn again to the Slave Market. “There are always elves there,” he said. He stopped walking. 

Emtae peered down at the boy, curiously. “Yes…there are.”

And he let go of her hand and strode off towards them.

“No—little Master. Dorian, wait!” She hurried after him. “We must stay away from the Market, Master Dorian.”

A guard was circling, eyeing them. 

“Why?” Dorian asked her. “I want to see it.”

“It is…not a good idea, Master Pavus,” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder but her eyes were scanning around them. Another guard had joined the first. The two of them approached.

“Hey, knife-ear, get the boy out of here unless you want to taste my hand.”

Emtae’s arms came up automatically around Dorian, protective. “Yes, of course, my lords. A child’s curiosity. It is nothing.”

“That is _mean_ ,” Dorian said, ducking under her arm and glaring at the guard. “Don’t say that to Emtae.”

“Shut up, you little shit. Just get him out of here, knife-ear.”

“Come, Master Pavus. We should go.” She stood up, taking his arm and turning him away.

He spit on the guard’s boot.

Emtae didn’t see it—one of the guards grabbed her by the back of her head and yanked her around. “This little _bastard_ spawn of yours just spit on me, knife-ear.”

“I am not his mother. He is the son of Lord and Lady Pavus. Please, let us go. Lady Pavus will expect us soon.”

One of the guards eyed the boy. Dorian kicked his massive boot. 

“Dorian!” Emtae said sharply—

And then the guard cracked the child across the face. Dorian staggered back and fell down, his lip split and bleeding.

Emtae threw herself in front of him. “Stop! Please, stop! He is a child! He does not know better. He is brave in the way little ones are!”

“Brave?” the second guard asked. “Brave? For what? Not calling a knife-eared slut a knife-ear? Are you _not_ a knife-ear?”

Emtae hesitated. “I—“

The second guard grabbed her by the hair again. “Maybe she doesn’t think she’s a knife-ear. Maybe we can help with that?”

The first man pulled out a dirk.

“No—please don’t! Not in front of the boy--!”

The guards grabbed her, one holding her down and still. The other grabbed her left ear by the tip and pulled it out away from her head.

Dorian stared at them, eyes big and frantic, the last of his pastry on the ground by his foot. “E-Em? What are they—“

“Look away, Dorian! You must look away!”

The dirk bit into her ear about two inches from the tip. It chewed, hungry, ripping through the flesh. 

Dorian screamed in horror. He reached for her—but the guard shoved him away. Then he sawed through her right ear. “There we are, knife-ear. Now you’re like a human. What do you think?”

Blood was streaming down Emtae’s face and throat and soaking her dress. She was silent, shaking. 

“Oh, no? You’d rather be a knife-ear again?” The guard threw the two chunks of bone and blood and flesh that made up the ends of her ears into her lap. “There. Now get the fuck out of here, knife-ear.”

Emtae staggered up, grabbed Dorian up in her arms and walked away.

Dorian stared into her face. Her eyes were wide and wet with tears. And they were empty. 

They were so, so empty. 

And that was when he realized what a slave was.

 

 

 

Dorian opened his eyes. His bedroom was dark. But he could feel it—he wasn’t alone. His was also cold—from sweat now cooling on him and making him shiver. The dreams always seemed to do that. He sat up and scanned the room. “Victor?” He said aloud.

“Was that a guess or did you actually see me?” Victor seemed to melt right out of a shadow. 

Dorian flicked a few orbs of light into the air. “Bit of both. Is there a reason you’re being extremely creepy and watching me sleep or is this just an assassin thing?”

“I heard you dreaming. I came to wake you. Then you woke on your own. Habit, I suppose, to go back to the shadow.”

“Oh, so cryptic and mysterious,” Dorian chuckled, waving it away with his hand. “May I help you then, since you’re lurking here instead of showing all your good humor to your guests?”

“I’ve had whispers from Orlais. The Inquisitor initially forced Celene, Briala and Gaspard into a trifecta of power by using blackmail and manipulation. Briala’s elves are not gone nor settled. Many have disappeared but she does not seem concerned. Apparently, she once controlled parts of the Crossroads. I was able to confirm that. This mage, Solas, had to override Briala’s magic personally. He’s a powerful mage if this young man is who he says he is.”

“This Fen’Harel.”

“Yes. Word about the orb has spread through Tevinter’s Magisteriums all the way to Minrathous. There are _many_ who have made arrangements to search for more of these orbs. Anyone wielding that power can be a God. There is no way of knowing how many there are or ones that have already been discovered. But—one of my associates did get word of a temple to one of these elven Gods: June. They would not have seen but for one stray elf who came out of the ground to get water. My agent slipped inside but did not linger. There were signs of excavation.”

“Do you think it may be Briala’s elves?”

“Possibly. Or they belong to this Fen’Harel.”

“Thank you, Victor. I will pass this along.” 

Victor nodded and moved to melt back into the shadow.

“Victor—before you go—what _did_ you do to Lord Formaint?”

Victor looked back and smiled.


	24. Call Me Buttercup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't tell Varric!  
> \--------------  
> #momquisitor #bigsisquisitor  
> \--------------
> 
> This is the song I listen to when I write about Tevinter. it's called "Marco Polo" by Loreena McKennit: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kXcAX1PW0wI&nohtml5=False

“Sera has been gone for almost two weeks,” Eckona fretted, looking out the manor window. 

Varric came up to her side, leaning against the sill (as it didn’t do him much good to try and look out the window). “I could try to set up something—have people look for her.”

“Do you have people here?”

“No—but maybe we could get some.”

Eckona chewed on her lip. “Do you think she went back?”

“No.”

Eckona looked sidelong at him. 

“She’s a lot of things but Buttercup doesn’t run from shit. The Market freaked her out—could be she’s just hiding out for awhile until she can come to terms with it.”

Eckona ran her fingers through her hair. “I just wish I could find her. What if she’s been grabbed or something?”

“She can handle herself, Snow. I sure as shit wouldn’t try to take her somewhere she didn’t want to go.”

Eckona sighed. “I’d worry if it was any of us—maybe Cole could look for her? He’s good at disappearing. Maybe I could go with him—”

“No—if anyone recognizes you here, that’s bad for all of us, Snow.”

She looked at Varric and then sighed. “I suppose you’re right…“

“I’ll talk to the kid,” Varric said. “Just keep calm, Snow. She knows her way around a city.” The dwarf headed out of the study to go search for Cole.

Eckona went to the mirror above the fireplace. She looked into it. Her hair had certainly grown long. She kept it in a long plait to keep it out of her face. She liked her hair. She liked the sheen of silver. There had been wonderful moments with Solas—when he’d unbind her hair from the braid and comb his fingers through it. Always soft and gentle so not to snare the tangles. 

It was something she had never felt before—someone else gently touching her hair. It was calming, it felt nice. His long fingers and a breath on the back of her neck, feeling the tip of his nose touch her ear as he curled around her. It was so trusting…letting someone else touch her hair. No one just let anyone do that. Hair tangled so easily and without an attentive eye, it was painful. But with Solas it never hurt. He was so gentle—

She saw her eyes flaring—somewhere between sadness and anger. He’d seen through her so easily. How much she _missed_ \--

She pulled her dagger out, grabbed the braid at the base of her neck with her spectral hand and slid the metal behind her. She heard the scrape of the razor edge against her skin, against the strands, and in two swift motions the braid hung from her fingers, limp and lifeless. She looked down at it, not really seeing it, and then threw it into the fireplace. She had to invoke her spirit hand again to grab into her hair that remained, sawing off the lengths into a ragged, shaggy version of Cassandra’s short hair. 

 

Two hours later, the door opened and their host, Lord Formaint, entered. “My Lady! I have a message for you. It just arrived via some poor little waif.”

“A message?” Eckona turned away from the window and went to him to take the tiny rolled up strip of paper.

If he noticed her ragged hair, he didn’t mention it. He seemed oblivious as always as he handed her the little roll. 

She took it quickly, opening it up.

_Quizzers, it’s me. Me as in Buttercup. Me as in, need to talk to you. Just you. Come to docks tonight. About midnight or whatever—that’s when adventures happen, yeah? At midnight._

Lord Formaint smiled. “Good news, I hope?”

“It’s news. Not sure if it’s good or bad. Thank you, my lord.”

“Please, call me Victor.”

“Oh. Well. Thank you, Victor.”

 

Eckona kept the note to herself and in the evening, she changed into riding leathers and slipped out to the barn. This lord’s manor certainly was extensive. 

“I wonder what Lord Formaint actually _does_ ,” she pondered quietly, as she brushed a soothing palm over her horse’s flank. He whickered in response, searching her cloak for sugar cubes. “Not right now, you. Let’s go.”

She made it into Nessum not long after dark. It was nice to ride again. To ride at full speed and gallop across the landscape as it turned fire-red in the sunset. She could feel the Fade and magic and the presence of the whole world out in the open like that. It was almost a shame when she saw the outline of the city. It was lit by hundreds of lanterns, bouncing like fireflies. It encapsulated everything she’d always heard about Tevinter. A land of mysticisms, darkness, blood magic and at its heart, a smokey, intense beauty. A painful loneliness to the encroaching dark. The lights in the distance.

She dismounted before entering the city, tying her horse at a tavern. She had skipped the heavy cloak, wearing her lighter, shorter cape. Sera had been cryptic and had not used her own name—but Varric’s nickname for her—that meant someone knew her name that she didn’t want getting tipped off if the message was stolen. 

A staff would draw far too much attention, as she was an elf and could no longer hide her ears under her hair. She still wasn’t quite comfortable using a bow with the spectral hand, so she’d armed herself with knives, working with Cole on how to master them properly. She’d always focused more on combat than stealth but without a permanent arm, it had suddenly become very important for her to slip in and out of shadows. It was less direct than she preferred but it would keep her alive.

She kept the stump of her left arm under her cloak, heading into the city. It was truly a sight at night. The colorful lanterns, the street performers, the smoke of incense and hash and mystery. It was intoxicating, mesmerizing. It was totally different from the quiet, tranquil, natural beauty of the Emerald Graves but it was just as captivating. 

She had a drink at the tavern, slipping the keeper a few extra coins to keep her horse watched. The people around her were curious about the elf in their midst but no one challenged her. 

She headed into the city. The Red district was loud and alive at night with the sound of drinking, partying and sex. Her eyes lingered on it a little as she headed to the river. The docks were, by comparison, quiet. There were a few old women playing chess and cards, a few men fishing and no one else. Eckona walked the port until she saw a red sock laying nearly out of sight by some barrels of fish (which she guessed entirely by the thick smell). She snatched it up and fumbled to get it open with one hand. It contained another note.

_Hey, you. Crimson Lantern._

That was it. She pocketed the note and headed back into the city. A red lantern—either a signal or…perhaps a name?

She looked down into the Red district. “I swear if this is some prank between her and Iron Bull…” She trailed off, turning to head into the district of brothels and shops, hash dens and Embrium Milk distillers. Men and women alike called out to her, attempting to lure her in with sweet words and wandering hands. The atmosphere was nothing she’d ever imagined. It was how she felt when she’d danced with Solas at the Winter Palace but...different. 

She could imagine dancing with him _here_. With smoke and colorful robes and lightening in his eyes as the music would pull grace from them, undulating in exotic pace. If there was a way to _feel_ sex without actually doing it—it was dance. 

She shook herself from her thoughts. No wandering tonight. She’d reached nearly the end of the district when she saw it. The Crimson Lantern was built of red sandstone and covered in golden lanterns at every window and balcony. The main doors, cherry wood, had a single red lantern hanging above them, with a sign that announced its name. 

She squared her shoulders and entered.

It was dim. There were red and gold lanterns inside, people lounging on pillows and cushions, smoking or drinking, watching a beautiful girl painted entirely with gold play a sitar. A counter was housed in the foyer and a tall Qunari woman was holding it down. 

“Madam,” said the Qunari, inclining her head. “Welcome to the Crimson Lantern. I am Lady Drevin. We cater to both male and female patrons of whatever desire they wish. We have elven men who might spark intimate feelings of home, humans—who might remind you of all the good reasons we travel the world and even a Qunari. He is called Trace and he is vastly experienced in bringing pleasure to those of smaller races. You might walk funny afterwards but you will not regret it. Is there something in particular you might wish to experience tonight?”

The foyer felt closed in, intimate, far too warm as her eyes wandered. Gorgeous men in robes and armors, women in dresses and leather. But no sign of Sera.

“Um, I’m actually looking for someone.”

Drevin nodded. “I see, a particular companion then?”

“Well…” She should have brought Dorian with her. He would know what to say in a place like this. “Well, maybe. Her name is…Buttercup. She’s an elf.”

Drevin’s eyes sharpened and she looked her over. “She is very selective about clients. May I give her a name in which she might see you?”

Her eyes drifted to where a man with skin as black as night, drapped in gold and sharing a seat with a woman, straddling her lap as they shared a pipe of hash. 

“Um. Snow,” Eckona told her. “Please tell her, it’s Snow.”

The Qunari woman sent a runner, a little girl, who returned in moments and nodded. “With me then, Lady Snow.”

Eckona followed, eyes still lingering over the patrons as they lounged on couches and cushions, wreathed in incense and smoke and low laughs and sly touches.

“Is this your first time in a place like this, my lady?” asked the Mistress.

“Yes,” she admitted. “I suppose it was pretty obvious?”

“Oh yes. But—do not worry. Introducing anyone to the depth of carnality is a delight. It reveals many things about one’s mind.” She led her to a long hallway, up two flights of stairs to a smaller third floor. Lady Drevin continued to the very last door and knocked in a rhythmic pattern. 

It opened slowly—then quickly as the elf on the other side recognized Eckona. “Hey! You made it. Come in here! Thanks, Drevvy.”

“Sera—“

The thief grabbed her hand and pulled her inside, shutting the door quickly. 

“What are you _doing_ in a _brothel_ , Sera?”

“I work out of here.”

“You better not mean that. What happened after you ran? You’ve been gone for almost two weeks!”

“Calm down, yeah? I have to tell you something.”

“It better be that you’re coming back to the manor. Or I will knock you over the head and take you myself.”

“I can’t leave just yet, lady bits. Got something important going on.”

“What? Jenny things?”

Sera laughed, though it had an edge of hysteria to it that Eckona found instantly disconcerting.

“What did you _do_?”

“Right. So. Try not to be mad. Too mad. But. I may have…accidentally started an underground slave resistance group.”

Eckona closed her eyes hard and then opened them. “You’re leading a resistance group. In Tevinter. From a brothel.”

“Perfect, yeah! No one suspects a thing. They all assumed I was a new find from Drevin. I’m her new favorite. In multiple ways.”

“Ah—geez—Sera—“

“Qunari women are _incredible_.”

“Sera. If you were captured—“

“No, you’ll understand. I got myself a lot of new Friends here. I’m Jenny to them and I’m teaching them how to do what my Friends do down south. Good sources of information that. In return—I’m gonna throw the biggest party this city has ever seen.” 

“Sera—“

“What did you do, by the way? You let Cassandra give you a haircut? Looks terrible. I like it.”

“Sera!“

“What?”

Eckona sighed. “We were worried about you. Are you all right?”

“Course! Well, I wasn’t at first. Took me a couple days to get right in my head. But then I found the sewer tunnels. You know they run all over the city? That’s where I found someone interesting. And that’s why I sent you my message. Problem is—someone else may have been tipped off. So I wanna go meet her but I might need you around to stick some little knives in with my little arrows.”

Eckona took a deep breath. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. All right. Lead the way.”

Sera bounced up. “Call me Buttercup outside, just like Varric. Ha. Don’t tell him though.” She was dressed in swathes of silk and scarves, bangles lined her arms and her neck had a delicate strand of bells hanging from it. She started pulling the bangles off. “Don’t worry—got the good stuff under this.” She pulled the dress off and tossed it aside. Her leathers were under it. “Let’s go!” She went to the window.

“Who are we going to meet?”

“Just wait. Best not to say here.” Sera climbed out the window, spiriting down a support beam before donning her cloak on the ground. Eckona followed a little slower, a little more awkward having only the one arm. As soon as she got down, Sera started away. “You know I saw some elves who had parts of their ears cut off. Suppose to mark them as thieves or something? They call them _half-ears_. Fucking horrible. Can’t leave this the way it is, you know? Tevinter’s a lot worse than Orlais. Here, slaves got no protection at all. But I inspired some of them with Red Jenny. These nobles might sleep a little lighter now.”

Sera led her through back alleys until she reached a port cover in a grimy corner that stank of dead fish and filth. “Hold your breath, word from the wise.” She pulled the cover off and disappeared into the sewer. 

Eckona sighed and followed. “If this is some wild goose chase, Sera.”

“It ain’t—don’t worry your bad haircut about it, Ecks.”

“Like you can talk about bad haircuts.”

Sera led her through a maze of pathways, somehow seeming to always know where she was. All she wanted was for Eckona to create veilfire, which she was glad to do. It was very, very dark in the sewers. 

When they emerged, it was near the slave barracks. All slave holdings were guarded at all times. Sera seemed unconcerned, naturally. She slipped into shadows nearly as well as Cole. Eckona followed her exactly. She trusted Sera with her life, even if she didn’t trust her with three silvers, an orange peel and a toothpick.

They deviated from the slave barracks, Sera leading her a trail to a small warehouse. She picked the lock and in they went. It was very dark as she followed Sera’s steps to the back of the warehouse and then into another trapdoor in the floor. 

“How many freakin doors are we gonna go through?”

“This is the last one, I promise.”

Down a ladder into a large basement, they found themselves. 

“Hey, you still here?” Sera asked out loud. “C’mon. I brought her.”

An elf emerged from the shadows. She had dark hair, dark eyes and markings of June—

“You!” Eckona gasped, pointing. “I remember you! You’re Mihris!”

“It has been a long time, Inquisitor. I’m surprised you remembered my name.”

“I admit—ha—after you called Solas a _flat-ear_ , I never quite forgot you.” She smiled. “What are you doing here? Were you captured by Vints?”

“Yes—wandered too far north near the Nevarran border—got picked up by a group of slavers. When they brought me here—I used my magic and escaped into the sewers.”

“Why didn’t you leave?”

“Elves are disappearing everywhere. It can’t be just slavers getting lucky at every street corner. I’ve seen what happens to slaves here. I wanted to try and help somehow. Then I ran into Sera. She recognized me too.” She smiled a little. “I didn’t know you were the Inquisitor when I met you. I wish I had.”

“You would have been nicer?”

“I would have been _smarter_ ,” she said. “Nothing personal about the one I called ‘flat-ear’ by the way. I was angry and stupid at the time.”

“No hard feelings,” Eckona said, waving it away with her hand. “How _did_ you know about the warding artifact, anyway? I didn’t think about it until we parted ways—but of course, by then, you were gone.”

“No time for this now,” Sera interrupted. “We are on a schedule, Ecks. Look, Mihris—we got people here. I want to help the slaves. These sewers run everywhere around the city. We’re staying at a manor close by. Formaint. Heard of him?”

“Heard he’s crazy.”

“He is—but we get to use his house. It’s a big house. Good for planning. And hiding.” She lifted her eyebrows.

Mihris looked between them. “You really want to help the elves here?”

“We want to help _all_ the slaves here, regardless of being elves or not,” Eckona said pointedly. 

“All right, I got it,” Mihris said quickly. “Slip of the tongue. We want all the slaves, of course. But where could we send them, even if we freed them?”

“That’s something we need to sit down and plan. We can’t make that up right now. It’s—“

Up above in the warehouse, a door burst open. “They’re in here somewhere! Search the building!”

“That’s the tip off I told you about,” Sera said, unstrapping her bow. “You better go, Mihris.”

The elf scoffed, picking up a staff that was leaning against the wall. “I can fight. I’ve fought worse than some city guards. And this staff belonged to some fancy magister.”

There was a crash above as boxes and bags were upended and destroyed, stomping boots and cursing from the soldiers. And then suddenly, silence.

There was a soft tap-tapping against the floor. Followed by four softer sets of feet. 

Eckona drew her dagger. “That’s a staff tap. There’s magisters with them.”

“Shit—this is why I picked this place. Over here!” Sera said, flitting over to the other side of the basement. “Loose boards, c’mon.”

Mihris abandoned the idea of fighting a dozen soldiers and four magisters. She raced over to Sera. Eckona followed. Mihris went through first, wiggling her way up the dug-out tunnel and emerging under a lavender bush. She wasted no time, pulling the Fade around her and Stepping away. She vanished into the side streets. Eckona pushed Sera through and then followed. 

The thief climbed out, kneeling until Eckona pulled herself out. “Shit, that one arm makes you slow, you know?”

“I’m working on it, okay. The spirit arm only lasts for a few seconds at a time.”

Sera pulled her up and then something in her seemed to choke. Sera couldn’t seem to move her arms. “What is—what the hell is happening?”

Eckona grabbed her and then she smelled something acrid, sulfur as the paralysis took root in her own legs. “Fuck—shit—Sera can you get your flask—“

“If I could do that, I woulda already!” 

“You—“

A spirit—a demon—reared up in front of them. Sera would have scrambled back if she hadn’t been locked in place. “Oh shit, shit shit, fucking shit!”

“Control—it’s—a Control demon—why the hell would they bind—“

It was tall, darkness molded into the shape of a person. It shrieked into the darkness at them, claws raising up and then down—slashing into Sera’s arm and shoulder, shattering her bow. 

“Sera!” Eckona pulled against her invisible bonds. “S-Sera! Hang on—I—“

Sera shrieked in rage, fighting the binding and cursing at the demon as the claws sizzled and burned into her muscle and flesh.

Eckona’s brain flooded with panic. “Sera--!” she reached for her magic, invoking her spirit hand and grabbed onto the demon’s brittle wrist. 

It screamed, sounding pained, bringing up its other hand, fingers stiffening into something blade-like and slamming it into Sera’s stomach.

“NO!”

The elf went silent, her eyes widening. She shook, blood sputtering out of her mouth.

“Sera! SERA!”

Sera took in a gurgling breath, fighting for it, eyes burning in anger—and then a strange feeling descended upon them. In their vicinity, air suddenly moved, spinning counterclockwise and then bursting.

Eckona startled. _A mind blast?_ She peered around frantically for Dorian or maybe even Mihris—but she couldn’t see anyone. The blast shoved the demon back from Sera and the elf sagged in the invisible bonds, blood pouring from her belly and shoulder. 

“Sera! Hang on, Sera! Don’t you dare fucking die, Sera!” Eckona grabbed into the Fade, trying to form it into a Step—

But the demon was already back on its feet, advancing on them. It clenched a fist and Eckona’s spine stiffened. She felt like she was choking, burning. It forced her to her knees. Her eyes were smoldering in her head and her stomach revolted.

And then fire exploded around them, incinerating everything within a ten foot radius. The demon flashed, shrieking as it backed away, frantically regrouping itself to come at them again.

And then, abruptly—Eckona felt a strong arm wrap under her breasts. It hooked her, pulling her in against a simple linen shirt and then they _moved_.

It was an odd sensation, the world blurred around her. Gravity clutched into her arm, feet and hair but it was no match for the owner of the muscled arm. She was pulled backwards, everything felt like it was spinning.

And then, just as abruptly, the world stopped. 

She was around a corner, encased in shadow. Sera was next to her. She groaned and started to slump. Eckona flailed, pulling herself over and then cursing to activate her spirit arm—

But then the presence behind them appeared in front of them, kneeling.

“Cole?” Eckona exclaimed, starting to feel woozy.

The spirit put a hand on Sera’s stomach. “We have to hurry. She won’t have much time.”

“How did you do that—with the fire?”

“I didn’t.” Cole lifted Sera up, cradling her in his arms. “We have to hurry.”

“Go, Cole—go. I can get to my horse.“

The spirit looked at her.

“GO!” she commanded and staggered up. She wrapped the Fade around herself, turning invisible in the darkness.

Cole vanished, Sera with him. 

She took off running in the opposite direction, circling wide to avoid the square. By the time she made it to the tavern, she was soaked in sweat and smeared with dirt. She untied her horse and jumped onto him. “C’mon, hurry!”

She took off across the dry flatlands.

 

It was an hour of hard riding until she made it to the manor. She rode right into the barn, dismounted and took off to the house, throwing open the servants’ side door and running in. “Sera!”

Cassandra met her at the kitchen door. “She is upstairs. What happened!?”

She took off, bounding up the staircase and leaving Cassandra to follow, throwing open Sera’s bedroom door.

Lord Formaint was in the room with Tam, Cole, Iron Bull and Dorian. The others were gathered in the hallway. She pushed into the room. “Sera?”

“She’s all right,” Iron Bull said. “Cole got her here and Tam and Dorian put her guts back where they belong.”

“You should have told us you were leaving,” Dorian said severely. “We could have come with you!”

“You risked being recognized,” Varric added. “You could have blown our cover.”

“What the hell happened to your head?” Iron Bull asked, reaching over to tug on a short tuft of her hair.

“Shut up!” she told them, pushing Bull's palm away and going to Sera’s bed.

The elf was pale and drawn. But she was breathing and not dying. That was enough.

Eckona sighed in relief, sinking down to sit next to her. “Fuck me, you guys. She scared me half to death. And then Cole using—fire or something—someone used a mind blast too and then—“

“Wait, what?” Dorian asked. 

“I didn’t use magic,” Cole replied. 

“Then who did? Was it Mihris?”

“Who’s Mihris—“ Blackwall asked.

“Mihris! _Mihris_ is in the city? That elf we ran into when Chuckles was looking for his--” Varric asked.

“Yes—so—we told her to run so she wouldn’t get caught. But maybe she—“

“No. Sera did,” Cole said, looking down at the elf.

There was a beat of silence.

“Uh. What?” Varric asked.

“Sera did. All the pain and panic and pulsing in her blood. It—it got out. It finally got out.”

“ _Sera_ did that?" Eckona startled. "Holy shit.”

“She used magic?” Dorian asked, a disbelieving laugh barking out of him.

“She’s gonna be _so_ pissed,” Varric said, chuckling.


	25. Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You want to help. We cannot always chose the ways we help. Sometimes we do it without knowing. Just like sometimes we hurt. Without knowing. Sometimes we make a choice. And sometimes we do what we have to.”

Fen’Harel lifted the blade from the fire. It was one sided, as he showed the smiths, and so expertly folded that ripples of blue and silver spread like lace up the shining blade. “Traditional elvish blades were made of only one piece of metal,” he told them, flicking the katana out to his side. “ _Mir_ is knife, _Dar’misaan_ is a one-handed sword, like this. The strength lies in the one, unified piece. As soon as you begin to add or subtract, the whole weakens. Those of you who are mages—I can take you to the Fade and introduce you to spirits who can show you even more but for now—this is where we will start. The folds in the blade, traditionally, were done with silverite so to better take enchantments. There was a time when elves did not need Lyrium—though more about that may be the domain of June, rather than myself. Luckily, we have Minaeve.” He gestured to her, standing nervously at his side in front of all the smiths who had collected in Fen’Harel’s keep. 

She took her cue, keeping just out of hand’s reach of everyone in the room as she stepped forward. “H-hallo. Um. I am Minaeve. Lord _Fen’Hahren_ believes that with hard work, we can fully restore the quality and beauty of elven smithing. But until then, those of you who go out into the forest, if you find anything of interest, please bring it to me. For now, with demon essence and dreamer rags, I’ve devised a method to bind the effects of the demon essence to the swords. That means it will cause extra damage to normal, living targets but won’t do as much to demons, obviously.” She wrung her fingers together. “There is a chance, of course, using stormheart or dawnstone, we might be able to bypass some of the restrictions to modern enchanting while making the blades both lighter and stronger.”

“But for now, we still need Lyrium,” one of the elves asked.

“Yes.”

“How are we getting the Lyrium, my lord?”

Fen’Harel flicked the blade back by the grip. It wisked through the air. “The Carta, for now. But the goal is to get away from Lyrium entirely. It is a leash and after things are restored—it is possible we will not have access to it any longer.”

The smiths looked at each other, then at him. There was a question in many eyes: _What does that mean, my lord? What will happen to the Lyrium?_ Or, for a few of them, _Is something going to happen to the dwarves?_

If Fen’Harel noticed, he did not acknowledge it. He handed the blade carefully to the head smith, who marveled at the lightness and strength. “Study the blade, the metal, the craftsmanship. Not too harshly,” he smiled for them, completely one with Solas while looking as Fen’Harel, “it has been some time since I’ve smithed anything.”

“M-my lord,” asked one of the younger smiths, looking down a bit when Fen’Harel looked right at him. “ _Fen’Hahren_ , would you….would you really take us into the Fade?”

Fen’Harel smiled. “You are all my people. I will stand with you, go into the Fade, and teach you everything I can about my time. Soon, very soon, we will have another piece and with it, I will restore things as they should be.” He inclined his head to the smiths and turned to go. They bowed as Minaeve followed the old god out of the forge, a large and expansive place underneath the mighty keep. Improvements were a constant here in Fen’Harel’s holding. Minaeve didn’t know if there had been previous tenants or what might have happened to them but Solas never appeared concerned about it. He directed the improvements himself, increments at a time. The foundations, walls, defenses. The gardens and orchards and the forge all went underway at the same time. Solas had taught several herbalists the spells that would make fruits and vegetables grow and prosper. Now that the forge was finished, improvements would continue. Pipes had already been installed on most floors. Water could be pumped almost anywhere in the keep. The forge was housed with the natural hotsprings. The forge under the keep was solid stone for about fifty yards and then it opened into an expansive greenhouse. The hotsprings kept it filled almost constantly with steam. The steam was used to run some strange contraptions that Minaeve had no inkling what they did. 

But whatever it was—people seemed happy. They were fed, they were warm, they had purpose—and they were learning so _much_ from the Elder Wolf. It certainly was better than an alienage. The former-slaves, in particular, had come to be the most fervent advocates of the Wolf. 

Minaeve watched his back, the sloping shoulders, and the dark sheen of his hair. His fingers curled around each other, clasped behind his back. Sometimes toying with a ring he wore on his first finger. It was…different. She remembered the humble traveler who lingered out by the lake at Haven, who had once helped her carry in a large bundle of elfroot and kept druffalo away. He had always been calm, kind, knowledgeable. When he’d been with the Inquisitor—the change in him had been subtle—but she noticed how he had smiled more. There was more warmth in his gaze. He was quicker to laugh. And once the rumor circulated that he’d dropped her—well, there had been a _lot_ of gossip. Everything from—she was sleeping with someone else, she was frigid and barren, he was bored with her, he had come to his senses about one Dalish bitch raised up to some impossible standard and gotten out of there. There were others that were crueler, mostly at her expense. After all, no one really _knew_ who Solas was. He was simply an elven apostate who had somehow helped at Haven. She was the Inquisitor, who changed the fate of wars and thrones—but couldn’t manage to keep some apostate at her side. Like anyone with fame attached to them, it made her a very easy target.

A flux of letters had arrived at Skyhold when word got out—thankfully, the Inquisitor was gone at the time. Some of them had been offers of marriage, requests for lineage, inquiries about her Dalish _Vallaslin_ and the truth of its removal. But others had been harsh and cruel. Those letters had never made it to the Inquisitor. Josephine had slipped them away, hiding them somewhere among her own effects. To Minaeve’s knowledge, the Inquisitor never knew about them. 

Solas, though, had shown almost no response at all. She knew his companions were curious and some of them even risked asking him about it—but they’d been shut down immediately. That had been the starting of the man she saw now. 

The smile was there, the calm was there, even the kindness was there—but it didn’t touch his eyes. There was no warmth in his eyes.

She may have called him the Elder Wolf…but to her, Dread rang truer.

Still, she followed him back to the library. He seemed to like it when she followed him about the Keep. He had requested she do so today, though she wasn’t sure why. She couldn’t explain anything better than he himself already could. Maybe it was simply that she’d known _Solas_ first and not _Fen’Harel_. 

“Any word, Malit?” he asked, as he swept into the stacks of books. 

“Yes, my lord. Briala has opened up the Temple of June. She sent word that she is willing to divulge what’s inside if you wish to come to the table to discuss alliance.”

His steel-blue eyes peered down at the maps strewn across the table. “A wonder that she did not suggest it sooner. Then again, knowing who I am—may have made her wary after our initial meeting at the Winter Palace. All elves are welcome here, whether slave, circle mage or from alienage. Provided they are willing to work and learn.” He eyed the location. From his peninsula, the temple was to the southeast in the corner of Orlais. “I will go there myself. You may send word ahead.”

“My Lord,” Milat blinked. “You…wish to go yourself?”

Fen’Harel traced a finger along the path that would get them there. He turned around and walked away. Not having been dismissed, Minaeve hurried to scurry after him. “M-my lord, should I…prepare for you to leave?”

“No,” he told her. “I know these places far better than anyone, even Briala. She is stubborn, dangerous and clever—to those around her. But I do not go there as a conqueror and she is not my equal. There is no need for me to bring soldiers. I will listen to her. Should it be beneficial, I will bring her and her elves here. If not—then I will open the Temple whether she likes it or not.”

“Will you….go alone?”

“No,” he smiled. “You will come. As will one or two others. Does that suit you?”

Minaeve felt immediately uneasy. “I…I don’t know what good I could do there, my lord.”

“Temples can stay sealed for thousands of years. Who knows what things of interest you will see.”

 

 

 

“Fen’Harel, the Dread Wolf,” said Briala, leaning up from her command table and walking around it, looking up at him square in the eye. “Your reputation proceeds you, Wolf. If only I had known who you were in the Winter Palace.”

“I have no interest in your small games with Celene.”

“You do now that I’ve unsealed the Temple of June. With my own people.” She lifted her eyebrows.

“Are we not also your people?” Fen’Harel looked beside him, nodding to Minaeve on his right and a young man called Rickam (warrior, former Dalish, Elgar’nan) at her side.

“That is rich coming from you, _Solas_ , the—what was it? Serving man of the Inquisitor? Come—there is much to discuss.” She turned away from him, walking into a strange cave. It had been blocked until a few weeks ago and through it, they emerged into a vast clearing full of wildflowers and grass. 

Fen’Harel smiled a little at her boldness and followed, interested. 

Solas remembered June. A creator, always busy, his hands had never seemed still. He had brown hair and laughing brown eyes that twinkled in star light and moonlight. He reminded Solas now, of Varric (though he didn’t like to linger on that for too long). Funny, witty but worn. June had been his friend—but as he and the others sunk into their godhood, the darkness was inescapable. The twinkling light in his eyes went out and he beat with his hammer at all hours, both day and night. 

The opening of the temple was bright, airy, full of light and beams of sun and dust and beauty, just like June had been. But the farther in he walked with Briala, the more he saw the subtle shift. These temples had gone up when they had begun to turn on each other and so locations had not been shared among most of them. As they went in, the windows became small, the glass was red and black and the beautiful masterpieces that were the mosaics of veridium and spirit quartz (called _Veil_ Quartz now) changed to obsidian and darkness. 

He could feel Briala watching him from the corner of her eye. Was she hoping for some break in character? Some indication that he was lying, that he couldn’t _actually_ be Fen’Harel. He smiled gently, looking at her, meeting her gaze—which she was unable to hide. She stopped walking, narrowing her eyes at his. 

“Question?” He asked her politely, spinning the ring on his right first finger before unclasping his hands to cup on elbow in his palm. 

“How can you be Fen’Harel?”

“I should think our time would be wiser spent discussing alliance, Lady Briala.”

Her eyes hardened. “I don’t make alliances with boogeymen and ghost stories, Solas.”

“Then perhaps later, in private.”

Her eyes narrowed again, just a little, and then she turned on her heel and strode on. “We have fully excavated the foyer and pools, rubbings are being taken of the stones, walls and tablets to send back.”

“Is there someone among you who speaks ancient elvish?”

“No. But I have connections.”

“I could make it very easy for you.”

“No doubt you could. But we haven’t started negotiations yet. No one gives anyone something for _nothing_.”

He smiled slyly at her. 

She smirked at him. 

 

 

 

Eckona grabbed the bandit around the neck, cradling him back against her and singing out loud, “You say goodbye—“

Sera flashed into the air in front of him. “And I say hallo!” She gutted him with her dagger and as he cried out, his intestines and blood slopped out wet and heavy all over Eckona’s armor and boots. She unwound her arm, panting and letting him fall. She attempted to wipe her forehead with a gore-streaked arm but seeing the futility, shook out her hands instead. 

Sometimes it was easy to forget that she was a ranger. She was learning the ways of an assassin now, after all. And her skill with blades had sliced ahead of everything else. It seemed to suit her better, rather than the bow. She seemed invigorated by the change. Perhaps it was the insanity of the last months that made her switch to daggers. Something up close, something personal, something hot and bleeding and she could _control_ things from the thick of it like this. When it felt like she could control nothing else. Yes, due to familiarity, she would use her bow when they finally went to Corypheus--but she would keep blades on her at all times now. It felt good to touch the cold metal of the hilts, hot with blood.

Sera grinned at Eckona, licking her lip, something almost predatory there and she caught her breath. “So—it’s for certain then? You and the Lady Quizzers? Interesting.” Sera smirked smugly at Solas.

“Your interest is none of my concern.”

“Oh, come off it. It’s _boring_.”

“Is it?” Eckona laughed breathlessly, pushing a chunk of something’s flesh off her gauntlet and then reaching up to pull off her helm. “It’s boring? You should have told me.” She walked over to Solas, wrapped her blood-soaked fist in his collar and jerked him down to kiss him. 

“Oh—OH—WHY—there’s blood on your face!” Sera cried out.

Dorian burst out laughing. Cassandra smirked.

Eckona shuddered, something fiery igniting through her core as she released Solas. Blood from her face, from her hair, from her armor—it had smeared onto his. His eyes met hers, dark like a summer storm. She felt his hand tightened into her waist, he was fighting against his overwhelming urge to grab her to him in front of everyone, right here in the aftermath of blood—

She stepped away, turning lazily to give Sera a thumbs up as she headed down to the river. “Guess I’ll have to clean him off later? Solas, be _ma vhenan_ and come down to the river in about ten minutes?” She winked at him and disappeared down the hill

“Oh, bitch! Oh, ew! No!” Sera covered her ears. “Why! Argh!”

“I knew it, I knew it,” Cole said suddenly, eyes far away and voice capturing the emotion of the thoughts he heard. “Right from the beginning but more now. More of the. The knowing. Knowing him. He is so _on_ it. So in sync, moving together. A rift above as soon as I go, wrap myself in silks of Fade and streak out of the shadow to _thrust_ the glinting diamond edges—the rift he crafts with limber hands and deft fingers, dragging them all back to me like he drags them over my hips and the dance is making everything inside of me vibrate, I want the dance. I want the dance. I never felt this with the bow. I want to feel it tingling on my skin, head tilting back, as the knife shatters into full and pulsing veins, a bloating stomach, thick organs, a bleeding heart. And then it is over and, shaking, I become just myself again, covered in the gore of our dance.”

Solas smiled, looking politely interested. “How inspiring.”

The others stared at him, as he admitted nothing and yet, _everything_ at the same time.

At least until he looked up at the sun and said, “Ah, she asked me to join her in getting this blood off. Do excuse me.”

The four of them looked at each other when he was out of sight.

Sera burst out laughing, flopping back on her bedroll and gleefully kicking her feet. 

Dorian pointed at Cassandra. “You owe me five royals!”

Cassandra groaned. “I cannot be the only one who got it wrong!”

“No, far from it,” Dorian cackled. “Vivienne said never, Blackwall said six months—“

“Six months! Even I did not think it would take that long!”

“I don’t think Blackwall quite thinks Solas is a real person. He may have to see beyond his beard to do that. Iron Bull will be pleased—he said it would happen when they were with me or Sera or both of us _and_ he got the timing—with _one_ day to spare. I think we _all_ owe Iron Bull. But not ten Royals—because he said it would never happen if Cole, Cassandra, Blackwall or Vivienne was there. But everything else, Bull nailed it.”

"Why me?" Cassandra wanted to know, crossing her arms sourly.

"Bull said that the Inquisitor looks at you in a big-sister sort of way. She has a lot of respect for you. He thought she'd be afraid of you thinking less of her if she was openly affectionate with Solas in front of you."

"She has had few choices in this--she should take happiness where she can, regardless of who is present."

"Take it as a compliment, Seeker," Dorian said. "After all--she _did_ do it in front of you."

"So she does not care what I think or she....trusts me?" Cassandra looked down to think about that.

“Even though I was here,” Cole said, tilting his head. “What did they do?”

Dorian grinned. “Some of us have known they were feeling each other out, so to speak—“

Sera snorted into her waterskin and choked.

“—earlier on. But once it became public knowledge to all of us that they were seeing each other—I decided to make a wager on how long it would be until both of them broke face in front of us.”

“Like a kiss? And. Not to feel shame? Both of them don’t feel shame anymore?” Cole asked.

“Yes….though, it’s…rather sad when you put it that way...”

“Kisses should not be about shame. They should be about. Love.” Cole told them somberly.

“What did the others say!” Cassandra demanded.

“Josephine said two months, so she will owe Iron Bull, Sera, myself and _Cullen_ \--“

“No fucking way! I didn’t know he was in it too!” Sera burst out laughing again.

“What did Cullen say!” Cassandra looked ready to fight him.

“Cullen guessed a month and a half—which is respectable. Someone who understands hot-blooded needs _and_ duty. Varric, on the other hand, said a _week_ , which was too soon even for them. So he owes everyone money now—but he did state that I would be with them if it happened. So he doesn’t have to pay the Bull for that.”

“Ha,” Cassandra snarked. “At least for that.”

“What is it with _you_? Leliana said that too—that you’d be around,” Sera told them, rolling onto her front.

“Mmm, must just be my charm. I bring out all the sexual frustrations of the party.”

Cassandra made a disgusted noise. 

“No?” Dorian asked. “Hmm, well, Cole?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t you _dare_!” Cassandra commanded, standing up and half-drawing her sword.

Dorian sputtered with laughter in front of Cole, touching the young man’s strong arms. And then he pulled them back. “You’re right. I can’t. It’s weird.”

“Weird. Gross and weird,” Sera agreed.

“What does he want to do?” Cole asked.

“I don’t,” Dorian said, laughing and turning to walk away.

 

 

 

Sera murmured softly in sleep. Cole sat by her bed, watching her quietly, seeing her dreams as they flickered and flinched through her mind. They were dark and sad, mostly. Though that had changed a little since Sera had joined the Inquisition. Some of her dreams were happier now. That was good. Everything inside of Sera was always so chaotic, scattered. She could recall what she needed, when she needed it—but at all other times, her head was brimming with thoughts rushing to and fro like a stormy ocean. 

It sometimes made it difficult for Cole to hear her—inside where _she_ was. Where she longed for a real friend, love, and everything else. Except purpose. Sera was fluid in purpose. It shifted to her whim, like winds in a sail. And yet, there was no doubting her loyalty. 

But when she twisted in her sleep, a soft whimper as Nothingness descended on her dreams in fears. In all the things she had—

Cole reached over and grabbed her shoulder, jerking her out of sleep.

Sera instantly tried to sit up—but Cole grabbed her again, arresting her progress. “You will hurt yourself, Sera.”

Sera stared up at him. “Creepy?”

“Yes.”

“You…you know I don’t like you.”

Cole peered at her, silent. 

“You saved…me. Didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Why? You know I don’t like you.”

“You want to help people in your own way. You deserve to be saved.”

A stricken look flickered through her eyes and she broke her gaze on him. “Pretty pathetic, right? I’m awful to you sometimes. You save me anyway. Because I deserve it? No.”

“You are like a spirit. Nothing is ever certain except your purpose. Sometimes it feels like you don’t have one—but I. I know you do. You want to help. Even though you’ve been hurt so many times.”

Sera’s shoulders started to tremble a little.

“Why do _you_ have to understand that when no one _else_ does?”

“Because I want to help.”

She stared at him. Sera felt like she was standing on a cliff edge. There was something for her to understand, to perceive, if she could simply get up the courage to creep over to the edge and peek over. She wouldn’t fall. She was alone. No one would push her. She was alone—

No.

No, not alone.

“Cole,” she said softly. And then she looked down. “Thank you.”

“You used my name,” Cole said and his sad face became a smile. “Thank you, Sera.” He watched her fold into herself, hands going to examine her stomach. The chaos in her mind was different, like a wave had swept through her. “That is empathy,” he told her, trying to bring forth the words that would _help_. “It helps people. It _is_ empathy. The beginning of it.”

Her big eyes went to him and then back to the bed sheets. “What happened?”

“You used magic.”

The little color that had returned to her face drained away. “That was me, then? Wasn’t any…illusion?”

“You were scared. More scared than you’ve ever been. Even in the dark alleys and when people would try to find you. You were…caught. Like a…rabbit. In a trap. A hawk in a trap. A…dragon.”

“In a trap?”

“Yes,” Cole agreed. “You were desperate to _help_. And so you _helped_.”

“I don’t want to—I don’t want to have _magic!_ ”

Cole struggled for a minute, peering into her deeper, trying to bring forth the words. Some of his muddled speech seemed clearer when he said, “You want to help. We cannot always chose the ways we help. Sometimes we do it without knowing. Just like sometimes we hurt. Without knowing. Sometimes we make a choice. And sometimes we do what we have to.”

Sera looked sidelong at him, shaking.

“If you had not—it would have killed you before I could reach you. You would die. Eckona would die. And all the people you want to help in the city….wouldn’t get it. You changed things there…you will. Are. Um.” Cole’s over-large eyes flickered everywhere. He was suddenly aware of how difficult it was for Sera to understand him sometimes. How difficult it was for her to confront something she’d been terrified of her whole life. Maybe it was the part of him that was exploring humanity but he tried. “You’re. You’re more _you_. You make. The chains come off. And. You carve your own paths. But you do it for others. Not for yourself. No one needs to know it was you….for you to do it. Just you need to know. Just you. In the….in the deep you.” He reached out, gently pointing to her heart with his finger. “I hear it like I did in Skyhold. You saved me from their _fears_.”

“And I…” Sera swallowed hard, uncertain. “I saved you. And I saved…saved Ecks. Cause she’s my friend. And she’s the hat around here and—“

“And she is your friend.”

Sera looked up at him. “….I….I guess she is.”

Cole felt the bead, the pearl of pain form in Sera. Something in her bleeding out into it. Something moving with the flow of the chaos in her mind instead of against it. And gently, he plucked it out. And then he stood up. “I will tell them you’re awake.”

There was silence for a moment. Then:

“Creepy—I…you….you’re my friend too. Yeah?”

Cole paused mid-stride. “Of course,” he said, like it was the easiest thing in the world. Because it was.

Sera leaned back against the headboard.

Cole went to find the others.

The first thing Sera asked when Eckona walked in was, “What day is it, Ecks? How long until the solstice?”

“It’s a week out until the first of Firstfall. The moon will be full on Satinalia this year. Nessum will start preparing this week, according to Dorian.”

“Any chance of us going?” Sera asked.

Dorian furrowed his eyebrows. “I….don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’ve got plans.” Sera swung her feet around to stand.

“Sera—“

Cole appeared next to her to hold onto Sera so she wouldn’t stagger. 

“I’m fine, Scary Ghost.”

“You are definitely not,” Dorian told her.

“It doesn’t matter. I said I was gonna throw this city a party. I have to be there.”

“Sera,” Eckona said. “You’ve been through a lot in the last few days. You should just rest for now.”

“I’m not talking about it. The stupid magic. Creepy told me it was me. It’s got nothing to do with my party. We’ll talk about it some other time.”

“Sera—“

“You know what happens at _their_ Satinalia celebration?” Sera snapped.

Eckona looked at Dorian. Varric sighed softly, closing his eyes. 

“Blood sacrifices, I assume,” Iron Bull said.

“You…would be correct,” Dorian said quietly. “They will kill a lot of people, starting in the evening and going deep into the night.”

“How can they do that publicly?” Josephine asked. “I know it is something often practiced in private but…”

“They didn’t until recently. Now, they dare Orlais, Antiva, Nevarra and Fereldan to do something about it. The civil war is over. No one wants to fight anymore. No one wants to think about the blood sacrifices down south.” Dorian told them. “And…with slaves disappearing….well…..they are desperate to make old gods listen to them.”

“Fucking fanatics,” Sera spat.

“Andrastians aren’t much better,” Varric told her pointedly. “Chantry is just cleaner about it.”

“If we interfere—we could forfeit our security here,” Cassandra crossed her arms. “Somehow, I doubt Lord Formaint would be pleased.”

Sera snorted. “He’ll manage.”

“And what do you mean by that?” 

“He’s not _actually_ Lord Formaint. Did you all not get that? I been through his stuff,” Sera said, breathing stilted a little as Cole urged her to sit down. “Varric, Bull—one of you had to have figured it out.”

Varric frowned and sighed. “I suspected something.”

“Just couldn’t get to any proof,” said Bull. “I’m more noticeable than Sera.”

“He pretends to be someone new. Another lost son of Tevinter,” Cole told them.

Eckona felt everything in her stomach tense, she looked slowly at Dorian. “Did you know?”

Dorian looked at the others. “I know what’s going through your minds. I did know. But it’s not like you think. Just let me explain.”

“Who is he, Dorian?”

“He’s an assassin.”

“A Crow? A Bard?” 

“Neither. Tevinter has its own assassin guilds. He’s not part of any of them. He works outside of them.”

“Independently contracted assassins can get us into heaps of shit from the guilds,” Varric said sharply.

“Not if you’re good at what you do,” Dorian scoffed. “And Victor is very good at what he does.”

“Who _is_ he, Dorian?” Eckona asked again, tone becoming stony, eyes getting that fiery look he’d come to recognize as a warning precursor to possible violence. 

It had appeared once when they fought Corypheus but not really again until Solas had taken her arm. That had been the turning point. No looking back. And now it surfaced more than he’d like to see—she had certainly changed from the shy young woman he’d met in Haven.

Dorian raised a hand. “All right—yes. Victor was a friend of mine—“

“Dorian, I swear, if you—“

“It is the truth!” He exclaimed. “When you told me we needed to get into Tevinter, I put word out to my friends. I told you—I have scarce few friends but very strict rules regarding them.”

“No traitors,” Sera remembered out loud for them.

“Yes. Victor has never betrayed me. When I met him, he was masquerading as a slave. The Circles in Tevinter are not like the gilded cages of the south. They are truly prestigious academies. I’ve had the grand tour—I’ve been through several. Unsurprisingly, I didn’t get along with others very well as a youth.”

Cassandra and Varric both rolled their eyes.

“For a time, I bandied about Tevinter, unable to submit to a Circle but protected by my father’s name. I trained under tutors and sought knowledge in other cities. I went to Neromenian, home of blood magic in Tevinter. The slave market there is…a horrible place. Not many slaves actually make it to being sold. I was twenty and a great deal less reserved and mysterious than I am now.”

Cassandra and Varric rolled their eyes again but for different reasons this time. (Not that, again, either noticed the other doing it.)

“I spoke to the slave master—“

“You _bought_ slaves!?” Sera cried out.

“No—I—yes—but try to see this from my point of view. You’ve seen Nessum. We are brought up around the markets. Slavery is a part of life for us. It isn’t odd when you’re brought up in it. Some cultures among the remote Qunari will still claim first rites on their servants and ritually rape them. Some extreme fanatics in Nevarra will stone a woman to death if she is seen in public with a man who is not her relative. In Antiva, men and women tout that they are passionate—and apparently, so passionate that for a man to beat his wife or children is considered Sunday dinner—it’s only of interest if he kills them. And even then, it’s only an _interest_. He’s got an _Antivan temper_ , right? We've all heard that. Dalish elves will sometimes _bind_ sets of twins to each other or if there are too many mages for one clan--they simply throw the child out and leave him to his fate. It’s terrible. But when you are brought up in an environment like that—you think it’s normal. So yes. I was a lonely young man in a new city. I bought a slave.”

“This Victor?” Cassandra asked.

“No. But he was there. I wanted to learn about magic that wasn’t of Tevinter. I bought a mage—an elven mage. The slave master told me she knew some elvish techniques. I took her to where I was staying—turns out, she had no magic at all. Ripped off. So I set the girl free and put her with a caravan heading south with enough gold to get her there and scarves to cover her ears. Then I went back to the slave master. He was some local lord—many of the slave masters are. They’re powerful men and women. But I didn’t care. I went up to him and started arguing with him. I was…well. Angry, at the time. At everything. It was a difficult time for me. Anyway—it came to blows. And suddenly, up slips this hand from the dark. It was night by then, I didn’t even see it until his throat…burst. Blood everywhere, very messy. I immediately took off after the killer—not because I cared about bringing him to justice—but he’d just killed the man I was talking to and I wanted my money back.”

 

 

Dorian’s eyes were sharp, he caught the faintest wisp of air and immediately fade-stepped in the same direction. A rogue, perhaps? The ones who used the Fade to cloak themselves? There was no panic in Dorian. He was clear-headed, sharp, moving on intuition that had him suddenly veering off—seeing the faintest flicker of crackling shadow and then snatched a bundle of cloth in his hand.

That ripped the Fade away from both of them and the two staggered into an alley. Dorian spun the man around—which was a good idea, as the man immediately tried to knife him. He pinned the vagabond to the wall. 

“You’re pretty quick, Tev.”

“Same to you,” Dorian said. 

“Going to raise the alarm? Cry out for a guard, boy?”

Dorian raised his eyebrows. “Hardly. I just wanted my money back.”

“Oh, the slave not blow you fast enough?”

“She wasn’t my type. I set her free. Turns out, she had no magic at all.”

“I don’t think there’s magic that can do that.”

Dorian smirked. “You might be surprised.”

The two of them eyed each other.

“Are you going to knife me?” Dorian asked.

“Would you believe me if I told you no?”

“Not particularly. But it’s a good ice breaker.” Dorian looked at him another moment and then let him go. “You were one of the slaves, weren’t you? Usually, the slavers can parse out an assassin.”

“Oh, quick on your feet _and_ in your head, are you?

“I do try. Were you paid well for that particular slave-master?”

“Not enough for all the muck and shit I rolled in before I was picked up.”

There was a cry from somewhere behind them as, no doubt, someone found the dead slave-master.

Dorian sighed. “Well, I suppose I’m out the money for the slave now. He’ll be picked clean long before I get back there.”

“Unless you plan to cart me back there.”

“I could. But that man was certainly a putrid sort, wasn’t he? No sense of humor. Terrible smell.”

The man smiled in a bemused sort of way. “What’s your name, rich boy?”

“Dorian. What’s yours?”

“Berrand. For this job.”

There was another yell, closer. Others joined it and bells started to signal the city guard. 

“Well, Berrand. You’ve told me what I needed to know.” Dorian smiled. “Best be on your way.” He nodded towards the end of the alley. 

The man peered at him and then vanished, moving quick as lightening. Dorian wandered back to the slave market, which was now crawling with guards. He checked his pockets. Ah yes, Berrand had taken his bag of tobacco. Fair, really. He’d taken the set of keys in Berrand’s coat. They belonged to the slaver-master. And if Dorian accidentally dropped them near some elven mages—well, he’d never claimed not to occasionally be clumsy.

He didn’t see the strange man again until three days later. He returned from a long bout of hash and Embrium Milk in the Red district. He hadn’t been back to his apartments in two of those days. He staggered in just before sun-up. 

To the assassin, Berrand, sitting in the dining room. He appeared to be eating pancakes. “You’ve no slaves at all, Master Dorian.”

Dorian stopped in the doorway, blinking hard. “Oh. Hallo again. Changed your mind about knifing me?”

“Wow, if you feel as shit as you look—I may make you a pancake out of pity.”

Dorian sauntered in and sat at the table with the assassin. “And no, I don’t have slaves here.”

“You’re new to the city, yes. Dorian Pavus—of House Pavus of Qarinus—the wayward son of Halward Pavus and Aquinea Thalrassian.”

“I’d be impressed—were this not common knowledge.” Dorian shrugged. “Still, an A for effort.”

“Interesting things could be had, were I interested in blackmailing you.”

“So why are you here?”

“That target was mine. You caught me. You could have killed me or turned me in. You didn’t. I don’t like being in another’s debt.”

“Don’t worry. I don’t need you to kill anyone.”

“Not yet. But a young man like you _will_ make enemies in Tevinter. And probably other places.” He smiled, cutting another bite of pancakes and stuffing it between his teeth. “So, here’s the deal, Tev. I work independently of the guilds. I’m good at what I do—which I can admit without shame because I can see that you are clearly good at what you do. I kill people. You wield magic.” He wiped his mouth on a linen napkin. “My name is Victor.”

“Just Victor?”

“I could add ‘the Shadow’ or something after it—but it doesn’t seem necessary. Those with true skill don’t advertise it. Others will see it as a challenge. In any case—I’m here because your father is in the city.”

Dorian stared, tensing up.

“I didn’t lead him here; that I promise. I kill—I don’t fetch and carry for nobles. Unless the money is exorbitant. Which, it wasn’t. He’s downstairs. I don’t know how he found you just yet but he’s planning to come up here to collect you shortly. I’ve been waiting for you to return for two days. But you were gone so long that the possibility of a headstart is dead in the water. He’s been waiting for you to return as well. So, here is what I propose. I can kill your father, there seems little lost love between the two of you. Or, you go with him quietly and I help you get out of Minrathous.”

Dorian blinked. “Minrathous. He’s going to send me to Minrathous?”

“Well, according to his ranting downstairs. I slipped in with the cleaning staff. It will be significantly more difficult to escape from the capital. Without help.”

“Which you could give me?”

Victor nodded. “I will follow you to Minrathous—or wherever he takes you—and help you escape when the time is right.”

Dorian eyed him. “Well. I suppose we’ll see. All right, Victor.”

“Good. Now go take a bath. Ugh. You smell like a whorehouse.”

“You look like a whorehouse,” Dorian retorted, without venom as he got up. 

And just as Victor said, when Dorian exited his bath, he found his father in the living room. The pancakes and all traces of it were gone. 

 

 

Dorian paced the room, hands on his hips. “He was right. My father took me to Minrathous but Victor helped me escape three months afterwards. It is happy coincidence that shares the first name of the former Lord Formaint. When I knew we were going to need to enter Tevinter, I reached out to him. I knew Formaint was a target he wanted and if he got to spend some months masquerading as the man and spending his vast wealth, well.” Dorian shrugged. “So he got here first, took care of Formaint and then arranged hiring the Chargers and Dancers. “

“You should have told us,” Cassandra grumbled.

“Let me be frank. I respect you, Seeker. But you are a terrible liar. I didn’t even tell _him_ who I was bringing because information like that is volatile. The Imperium would love to get their hands on the former-Inquisitor. They are not the type to ask politely. And they would be all too happy if they could get the Right Hand of the Divine and the former Knight-Captain of Kirkwall as well. Not to mention, a Qunari spy, a dwarven merchants’ guild member and spymaster. Lady Josephine would be a prize for them that they would ransom for, bargaining for her life with Antiva. A mess of elves to bind and put into the slave market—or you’d be used in blood sacrifices. Same for you, Rainier. And if they somehow got their hands on Cole and removed his Amulet of the Unbound….well. They would do terrible things to him. It was not-good all around.”

Eckona seemed to have relaxed. “I see…it was just…for everyone’s protection. Ours, yours, his.” She glanced at Cole. “You’d know if he was lying, right?”

Cole tilted his head. “Please no, please no. Not him too. Someone else turning on us, on me. Not him too.” And then his tone shifted. “You do not have to worry. He is telling the truth.”

“All right. So…let’s get Victor in here. If we’re about to risk a shitstorm, he should be here. Everyone should. Josephine—I’m starting to think I should send you back to Antiva.”

Josephine startled. “Wh-what?”

“The longer we’re here, the less safe it is for you. I appreciate your efforts here—but I think maybe it would be good for you to go to Antiva City. It will be safer there for you. You can’t go alone…but I don’t trust Uleran to take you back. If we can save the slaves in Nessum—we’ll have to make a fast getaway if we’re discovered. I don’t want to think of what they would do to you if something went wrong and you were captured.”

Josephine went still. “I…I would be a diplomatic prisoner. I—“

“These people do blood magic. You’re here illegally. No one knows where we are. I don’t really trust their concept of diplomatic safety. I think they’d sacrifice you like any other slave. Among other things. Rape, imprisonment, sell you into slavery—and not bother informing your family at all. Leliana would skin me alive if I had to tell her I’d lost you.”

“We could arrange a ship to Nevarra—there are a few border cities along the river that will still trade with Tevinter. The slaves could go with you,” Dorian put in.

“This is a fool’s errand. A task that is more likely to explode in our faces than anything else.” Cassandra sighed. “But—I cannot sit here and think of what those people will suffer.”

“Bull….the Chargers could go as well. You all aren’t getting paid nearly what you should. You can protect the ship if they’re pursued. Rainier could go too—to escort Josephine on to Antiva.”

“Is this your way of getting rid of us?” Rainier asked.

“Ha, no. If I wanted to do that, then I would just leave. We’re starting to get into territory where…I’m not sure I can manage so many people without a secure holding for them. This is also a good opportunity to let people go home if they want to.”

“What about you?” Rainier asked.

“I’m staying here. I’ve got shit to do. This business with Solas—he’s a problem for everyone if he tears down the Veil. But its _personal_ for me and I can’t guarantee that I’ll be able to keep it separate.”

“First things first. Satinalia,” Varric said.

“Right, Sera. Let’s hear your plan.”


	26. Ever Tevinter Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iron Bull/Dorian  
> \-----  
> Songs I associate with  
> Tevinter: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kXcAX1PW0wI  
> The Temple of June: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K6EJ2iPWfCA&list=PLD17E4CE5DDA00A40&index=4  
> The Veil: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kxuvy-_F8iw&list=PLD17E4CE5DDA00A40&index=2  
> \-----------  
> Felassan is mentioned in Tresspasser and is a character from a novelization about Briala's conflict with Celene.  
> \-------------------
> 
> Here we go, Inquisitors. The time has come.

Fen’Harel lounged in a cushioned chair. He watched Briala as she drank her tea. The cups were ceramic but chipped. Still, likely, they were the only items of value that Briala traveled with. The woman was practical, knowledgeable and a powerful rogue. She had a table set up in a room within June’s Temple. The purpose of it, she didn’t know, but there was a small shrine and the remains of incense. There were candles lit around them. Another elf had brought them the tea and a small basket of fruits and seared fish from the surrounding forest. 

“Please excuse my lack of sweetmeats,” she said, not that sorry and not really expecting him to be upset about it. “I have been more focused on the task at hand.”

“It is of no concern. Just a formality.”

“Good. Then let’s begin. I knew when you overrode my command of the Crossroads. That you took it from me was bold—and also showed that you are a powerful mage. I cannot take it from you by myself—but I want access to it again. I want to know your plans for the elves under your protection. My people have been purged and butchered at every turn. So do forgive me if I don’t believe honeyed promises of equality and aid.”

“You need only see the truth then,” Fen’Harel told her, netting his fingers together and watching her. He smiled faintly.

“Truth according to you?” she asked him, looking down the bridge of her nose. “No—I’ve had plenty of that at court.”

“I can show you what I will do. Tell me what you’ve found here.”

“That can be negotiated, providing you give me the means to use the Crossroads again.”

Fen’Harel looked almost pitying. “I believe you have misunderstood the purpose of this meeting, Briala.”

“Have I?” She tensed immediately under that soft veneer. He could feel her anger simmering.

“This is not a negotiation. You are not my equal. There is nothing you have that I cannot simply take from you.” He _felt_ her hackles rise. “I came here to lay down the terms of our agreement. If you refuse to show me what you’ve found, I will simply take it. Regardless of your feelings on the matter. You have the chance to help your people, _our_ people, as it were. You can be present for that help. Or you can be absent.”

Her eyes narrowed. He felt a _flux_ \--

She leapt up, springing back from him and sweeping out her hand—and froze. She stared at her outstretched hand, pulling at it. It refused to move from the air. 

He felt her rage, her panic rising as he stood slowly from the chair. He kept her bound in place as he sauntered over to her, blue robes shimmering into golden plate armor. Her eyes widened. “That—!“

“It is not unlike the armor of the Sentinels at the Temple of Mythal. Many pieces were taken back with the Inquisition—which of course Celene was privy to. Which means you, of course, saw all of it. Correct?”

“Yes,” she said tersely, bound in place as he advanced on her. 

He skimmed a hand along her jaw. “I admire your inventiveness, your stubbornness, your perseverance. I admire your dedication, your fierce protectiveness, your fire. You lead your elves to _fight_ against established institutionalized racism and prejudice. There is honor in what you do. Even if you did allow Celene to purge the alienage—“

“That was—“

“Yes, an attempt to get her to do what you wanted—gone wrong. She butchered the city elves to save face. You now command a veritable army of an underground resistance. You knew when I surfaced. You released elven servants, smuggling them out of cities. You knew they would either go to your people or come to me and the long-term goal was to eventually make contact with me. Now, contact is made. I welcome you and your elves. But—the steps I will take to restore what has been lost do not involve you. I do not wish to kill you but if you trouble me, I will.”

She stared into his face, seething with rage underneath her stony expression. Finally, she said, “You are very powerful, Dread Wolf. Power must be respected.” Her tone was terse, clearly not pleased with the situation.

“Yes. All power, big or small, should be respected. Now. Show me to the artifact.”

And then he released her, gently touching her arms to steady her when she staggered. She pulled back sharply and turned around. “Follow me.”

She led him to another hallway, pulling down a torch and carrying it. The descent was deep, dark. It intersected once with a smashed hole in the wall—which, Fen’Harel was surprised to see—led out to a section of the Deep Roads. 

They continued down and down and down to a door constructed of obsidian and silverite. She crossed her arms when she reached it and turned to look at him. “We have not been able to get through the door. It is heavily enchanted.”

“I know,” Fen’Harel told her, striding up to it and touching it. There was a whisper of spidermums in the air. The door flared—and opened.

Inside, sitting in a clawed stand, was June’s orb.

He entered the chamber, immediately breaking several wards with his presence. Spectral guardians flashed into the air around him. With a gesture, they were dust.

“Fen’Harel…you truly are…”

He turned, where Briala was standing behind him in the doorway. Something about her posture had softened. “You….are unlike other elves, obviously. Did you…ever know an elf called Felassan?”

_The slow arrow breaks in the sad wolf’s jaws._

Fen’Harel narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

She looked a bit uncomfortable. “….he was…rather like you. Unusual but a powerful mage. But he had _vallaslin_. I have not seen him nor heard from him in a very long time. He was the one who told me about you.”

“How was he like me?” Fen’Harel turned fully to face her, peering into her eyes. 

“He…was a dreamer. Perhaps that was all it was. He was neither Dalish nor city elf—but marked by the _vallaslin_ of Mythal.”

Fen’Harel hesitated and then said, “Yes. I know this name. You are correct, he was neither Dalish nor city elf.”

“…was he an Ancient, like you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“Yes.”

Briala’s voice caught, eyes jumping. “Where is he?”

“He is dead.”

And just like that, the look shattered in her eyes.

_She is bare-faced. She doesn’t know. She thinks it is because of her._

He stiffened. She did not appear to notice, turning away from him. She was quiet for a long moment, her back to him, “You can find your way back, I presume, Dread Wolf.”

“Yes,” he said softly.

She walked away.

_They are stronger than you think. They could be what you look for. Briala reminds me—of something. Or someone. There is something more._

He stayed still, watching the woman walk up the pathways. _….she became real to him…as Eckona became to me….I…I should have--_

He shook himself and turned around. “There is no going back.”

He picked up the orb. “These quick elves are not People.”

The air _pulsed_ around him, above him, between him and the Fade. The Temple rocked on its foundations. With Mythal’s essence, it was just enough power to unlock the orb safely. 

And even if it hadn’t, did it matter? _They’re not real. No one is real. No one is real._

The time had come.

 

 

 

The general chatter at the table flickered and flexed. Eckona leaned up in her chair. She and the others were seated in the main hall of Skyhold. It was still so new to them. It smelled like damp stone but also clean cuts of wood and the call of hammers and chisels. But it was quiet now, workers abed and only those of the inner circle made a circle of their own around a table to finally eat a meal. She sat at the edge of a bench, fidgeting and not sure what to say to any of them. Solas was sitting across the table, two spots down of Dorian and Cole. He ate lightly, drank lemon water and then switched to wine. His blue eyes smiled as he tapped his napkin to his mouth and leaned back in his chair. He somehow managed to look elegant and yet, casually disheveled. He was talking with Cassandra, something about Seekers and entering into gentle debate with her. The lines of his face were so sharp but the eyes—something about his eyes. His face betrayed very little of his feelings or emotions—but his eyes were different. She wasn’t sure how to describe the kind of different. Maybe that was something Cole would understand. Not that she wanted to start asking Cole about everyone’s feelings. She’d only met most of them within the last two months. She’d met Cassandra, Varric and Solas four months ago. But hell, she’d only met _Iron Bull_ three weeks ago. And now, huge and hulking on Cole’s other side, lounged the giant man, always grinning, laughing and joking. He told hilarious stories. Like now, as he told Varric, who sitting on her right at the head of the table:

“So I run in, right? And it’s full of fucking cats. Cats. Fucking everywhere! I mean, in the fucking shithouses, the pond, the kitchens, the _stove_. We asked the lady where the _fuck_ all these cats came from? And of course, she’s older than fucking Koslun so Krem has to scream it at her because we’re here for fucking weapons. This is the drop house. We’ve got about fifteen seconds before the guards get down the hill of Thronteer Street.”

“What did you do!” Sera asked from Varric’s other side, slopping some of her beer. 

“They beat the door in—that poor old bitch must have pissed herself. The door opened and it’s us, unarmed and standing there with a stalk of rice disguised as a human and we just. We _threw the cats_.”

“What!” Varric threw his arms up. 

Sera fell out of her chair laughing (though that may have been partially due to the beer).

“I swear, that old woman never had so much yowling in that place than those cats. We kicked them, we threw them—and they’re _pissed_ when they land. Dalish threw a few with her….bow.”

For some reason, that was the comment that made Eckona choke on her mead, doubling over with laughter as Varric pounded her back. “Yeah, cause we all don’t know what it is, Bull.” 

“Force of habit, anyway. Whoever the hell that lady was—we got to wrong address and I beat the living shit out of that recon guy later.”

“Of course you did,” Dorian sneered softly, shaking his head at his glass of wine.

Iron Bull did a slight double-take down the table over Cole’s head. He smirked. “Quite the stinkeye you got going, Dorian.”

The chatter at the table quieted. Cole looked to the left and the right, at Dorian and then at the Iron Bull. 

Dorian snorted. “You are a brute and a savage. Nothing more.”

“Whoa…Dorian…..” Eckona straightened up on the bench. 

Iron Bull did not look the least bit offended. He just smiled lazily at the mage, eyeing him. “You should really bring up the eyes first. If you start going for _brute_ , they get the wrong idea.” 

Dorian’s teeth were gritted. “What would you know of _ideas_? You sit there, flexing your muscles, huffing like some beast of burden, with no thought save conquest for your Qun!”

Eckona exchanged a look with Solas across the table. “Dorian….are…you all right?”

“No, he’s right,” said The Iron Bull, turning to straddle the bench. If he noticed Cole shrink down between the two of them to vanish under the table, he didn’t show it. A massive palm planted itself _firmly_ on the wood. He leaned over at Dorian, who stiffened but held his ground. “I am the monstrous Qunari who has ravaged his homeland for years. I am the forbidding darkness. Yes, Vint. These big, muscled hands could tear those robes off while you struggled, helpless in my grip. I'd pin you down, and as you gripped my horns, I would _conquer_ you.”

Dorian froze, staring into that dark, intense gaze. “... wh-what?”

The Iron Bull leaned in closer, voice dropping with amusement. ”Oh. Is that not where we were going?” 

Dorian grabbed onto the table top and looked like he might have jerked back if Solas had not been sitting right beside him. “No, it was very much not,” he snapped quickly.

 

 

How that had changed. 

Iron Bull had not believed for a second that Dorian was the flirt he portrayed. He’d known guys like him. Sex and fighting did pretty much the same damn shit to the brain. He played up the act because he wasn’t getting anything. That’s odd, isn’t it? A pretty mage like him ought to be swarming with wenches and serving girls. Well, he must not be in to women. It must be men. And it only took a little bit of poking here and there to confirm it. 

Firstly, he showed no interest at all in the Inquisitor. A young noble, joining the Inquisition, finding out the Inquisitor is a quiet young woman—he hadn’t even glanced over her. And as sexual as Dorian portrayed himself—that stuck out to the Iron Bull. At the Inquisitor’s side; now, that was an attractive spot for a young noble with no money—and she was naïve too. She would have been an easy target to charm, if her doe-eyes at Solas were any indicator and the only thing Solas had been was _nice_ to her. And while she wasn’t built like _Leliana_ , there was something to be said for the slender, waifish type too. 

Secondly, he was not at _all_ charmed by Josephine—like everyone else was. He bandied about the Game with her but was never taken in by her. He was polite but that was it. Only Vivienne could work with Josephine in such a way. All others fell prey to her Antivan charm.

Dorian was good at hiding in the open. Everything was a mask, a front. He put a shield around himself as real as his barriers of magic but this one kept out kindness because Dorian thought every kindness was probably a falsehood. 

So the logical conclusion—Dorian was struggling deeply against how badly he wanted….something. Dorian likely did not know how to put into words. But the Iron Bull did. 

He noticed immediately how easy it was to get under Dorian’s skin. To needle at him was to incite a sudden defensiveness and anger—textbook reactions to fear and insecurity. Why would he, Iron Bull, make the mage insecure? Why, because he preferred the company of men? And when sides demonized each other, there was always something _lurking_ in the back of one’s mind. A tantalizing fear. A titillating preoccupation.

It had been clear when Dorian froze under him, naked vulnerability that bared an arresting heart, a tightening in the belly, heat flaring, throat constricting, breath shortening, eyes dilating. All of it was there: sexual attraction. Hot and burning and consuming like the fire he made in his hands. The same hands that he used to grip the edge of the table. Only Bull could see how _strained_ and white his knuckles were. (And probably Solas, if the smug shit was paying attention.) 

The poor bastard looked ready to flee until Bull leaned away.

 

 

Their first real encounter had not even been _that_ subtle. 

Dorian was up, studying in the library. Bull found him there. It was the only spot of light in the whole place. Everyone else was in bed. Only the candle on one of the desks told Iron Bull where the mage had holed up. 

He sauntered up, throwing his massive shadow inbetween two aisles, where the mage tensed and did a double-take. “You.”

“Yes,” said Iron Bull. “Me.”

Dorian put the book down, eyes never leaving him, sliding a foot back, and tensing up.

“Going to fight me?”

“Defend myself, more like.”

Iron Bull smirked. “You’re trying so hard to convince me of that, aren’t you?”

Dorian glared. “What does it matter to you?”

Iron Bull advanced on him. “I’m not stupid, Vint. I know what you want secretly.”

Dorian snorted, looking insulted. “What would you _ever_ presume to know about me—“

Iron Bull grabbed him by the front of his jacket and shoved him up against the wall. “I know you’re just not that into women and you want me more than you can stand to admit to yourself.”

Dorian stared at him. “Let go of me.”

“What are you so afraid of, Vint?”

“I’m not _afraid_. I simply don’t wish to be _handled_ by a Qunari savage.”

Iron Bull smirked wider. “Then why can I smell the _sweat_ at the nape of your neck?” He leaned in, breathing it in softly, a whisper of a touch at his throat.

Dorian grabbed onto the book case, trying to pull away. “Don’t…”

Iron Bull’s eyes darkened. Dorian had given up on keeping his eyes forward. He was looking everywhere but at him, breath shuddering under his dusky skin. Less like a hunter, more like _prey_. The Iron Bull cornered him inbetween the aisles, leaning over him again. He felt Dorian’s whole core jerk away when he very lightly touched his side.

Oh, it had clearly been a _long_ time since anyone had touched Dorian.

The touch flattened, cupping the Tevinter’s whole side. Dorian tried again to pull back, eyes flickering with something close to fear. 

_But not fear of me. He’s a mage. He could blast me away at any time. Fear of allowing himself…_

“Bull,” Dorian said, voice becoming stern but somehow choked. “Let me go. I—don’t know what point you’re trying to make but—I—“ He jerked, words crashing to a halt as he felt that large, hot palm slide over his abdomen. “S-Stop…” Dorian shuddered and choked on an exhale when that palm slid down, slipping under jacket and robe to cup him. He bowed his head, shaking. “ _Ah—_ ”

“Yes, I think you would like that,” Bull said, voice husky and dark, smirking to find Dorian’s cock already half-hard. “For me to tear everything off of you, make you look at what you want, make you _submit_ for it, even accept it.”

“I…do not—“

“It doesn’t always have to be about shame.” Iron Bull jerked his jacket open and grabbed Dorian’s wrists when he made to push the Bull’s hand away. He pinned them up against the wall. He kept his gaze locked on Dorian’s, forcing the mage’s eyes to stay on his. He was sure to let Dorian _feel_ it when he roughly jerked his robes open, snapping the buckle on his belt without a thought and tossing it over the railing of the mezzanine. Shirt and jacket open, eyes blown wide and dark, panting softly—this was an excellent look for Dorian. It made the Bull smirk again, dragging his trousers open—

And watching Dorian’s eyes get wide and glaze over when Bull touched him directly. Dorian’s breath shuddered and broke. Bull wrapped his fingers around him, stroking slow and lazy. “I will work you until you come,” Bull told him softly. “I will take down every defense, lay you bare and I will divide and conquer. More than you can imagine.”

Dorian jerked against the wall, almost soundless, writhing as he bowed his head. “Ah—Bull—“

Iron Bull’s other hand released the mage’s, sliding down the spines of books, grabbing Dorian at the small of his back and lifting him easily, pinning him to the shelves. His thumb slid over the head, smearing slickness down the shaft. Dorian’s made a faint, choked sound, hands grabbing into the book shelves behind him. Bull pushed closer inbetween his thighs, supporting the mage with one of his own. Feeling how Dorian _struggled_ , wanted to _wrap_ his thighs around him—and yet fought so hard against it that it made the Bull grin. “You should give in, Vint. I can feel how badly you want to.”

“Sh-shut up,” Dorian managed, a bead of sweat running down from his hair. “I don’t—“

“—want me to know how much you want me to _dominate_ you?”

The Vint jerked _hard_ , spine curling up against the book shelf as he came apart with a harsh choked groan. 

Iron Bull pulled the mage up against him. “Why don’t you join me for polite conversation? In my room.”

Dorian was shaking. His grey eyes flecked with tawny gold flickered in the candle light. He breathed hard, pressed up against the Iron Bull.

He nodded.

 

 

 

The Iron Bull watched Dorian now as the young Tevinter noble slid two daggers into sheaths across his lower back. 

“You’re nervous,” he said, folding his massive arms.

“Yes,” Dorian said, taking a deep breath as he buttoned up his silk waistcoast and adjusted the straps of his gauntlets. “I don’t think this will go well but, who listens to the one who’s gone to these festivals since childhood? No one, that’s who.” He huffed, sliding on a couple of rings and a pendant. He glanced at Bull. “You look nice though—by the way.”

“Vivienne put it together. Figured I could keep it.”

“Well, ready to smell a lot of blood?”

“Always.”

Dorian grabbed his staff. Now that the others knew who Victor was, the man opened the whole manor to them. They took most of the gold on hand and outfitted themselves with new gear and horses. A portion went to buying two small ships, which would be manned by the Chargers, Josephine and Rainier. The Dalish keeper, Bryndis, refused to leave without seeing her clan members freed. So she was outfitted as the others were with armor and over the body armor, robes, a glittering dust of powder over her face and exotic golden cuffs for her long ears. Nessum would be dressed in its best this evening and they must look suitable. 

They went to the city by carriage, which is where they also stored some of the bigger weapons and staves. Once they arrived, they split into two groups. Those going to the docks with Josephine and those who would stay. 

The ambassador looked over everyone fretfully. “Please, be safe,” she said. “I…write if you can. Send word if you need anything. I will do everything I can to help.”

Rainier shifted awkwardly. “….I know I haven’t redeemed myself but…I will. I will become someone that, the next time you lot see me, you’ll be glad to know me.”

“Keep her safe, Rainier. And….be careful,” Eckona said quietly and then reached out a hand.

He grasped it and shook it, a painful expression in his eyes. “We won’t waste any time. I’ll make sure our ship leaves first, the second will wait for the slaves.”

For the first time since he’d admitted his lies, Eckona felt a twinge in her—of sadness for the man who, when she met him—he’d raised a shield in her defense. Protected her from an arrow that would have split her head in two. There was good in him. There had to be.

And if not, well, Krem would kill him.

That was a somber thought. Eckona shook herself. “Until we meet again, Rainier.”

 

The Chargers and Josephine and Rainier walked away into the city, heading for the docks. The rest of them prepared to enter the city. Carriages were lined up in a massive, glittering row. It smelled like horses, dust and sweat but overpowering everything was the metallic stench of _blood_. They left Inya in the carriage—telling her to stay no matter what. She complied silently, sitting and staring at her knees.

The rest wandered into the city. There was music, smoke, incense and dance. There was food, drink, burning red light and fireworks. There were performers and fire breathers and bells of every kind. Tumblers and clowns, women on massive stilts, stalking the city square like wooden arachnids. 

Sera led the way to a lively tavern. “Right,” she told them. “Just like we planned.”

Cullen would take Tam, Anock, Iron Bull and Dorian into the sewers and head for the Temple of Dumat. 

Cassandra would take Arlath, Bryndis, Uleran and Varric to the city's financial district.

Eckona, Sera, Cole and Victor would slip into the shadows for when the ceremonies started.

 

The city square had been cleaned and decorated. The slave stalls still stood on the east side of the square but the west had been lavishly built up with an altar. It had clearly seen previous use, from the blood stains still visible on it.

A massive fire was burning in the southern corner of the square. Children danced and sang around it, roasting fruits and nuts and sweets while a pair of dueling zither players strummed deep and heavy and smokey. The children ignored them, singing their own songs:

_Elf ears, elf ears_  
_Get them while they’re hot!_  
_Crows eyes, time flies_  
_Dumat! Dumat! Dumat!_

The sound was thin from the children—who did not realize what they sang—as children often didn’t. There were sing-songs from the Dalish that were similarly gruesome about killing humans, there were hundreds of variations to one that was said to have spread from Nevarra about the Blight.

_Keen be eyes and spindles_  
_Stone, spirits and thimbles_  
_Ashes, ashes!_  
_To keep the dead down!_

It was a warning—but sung so cheerfully that children often didn’t realize it until they were much older. Keen eyes to watch for those with the sickness, Spindleweed under your door to ward it away. Blight effects dwarves, spirits and everyone else—down to even a common tailor. Be sure to burn the bodies to ashes—else the dead might rise again.

The evening was burning red, slowly purpling like a bruise into night. Lanterns flickered into life. 

 

This seemed as some great signal for when the lanterns lit, it started a chain reaction. One after another, hundreds of tiny lights twinkled out into the darkening sky. The square was full of smoke and the music slowed to something softer, sensual, drawing out over ears like fingers over skin. 

The market square was glowing orange and red and sparkling. All of Nessum’s best were out in glittering jewels and silks, scarves and smoke. 

A great bell was rung, a resounding hum that reminded Eckona unpleasantly of the hum from Red Lyrium. The kind that made her teeth vibrate. 

A Magister entered the square with guards and entourage. Likely a local head priest, Victor told them quietly. He had taken the loss of his cover very well, only smiling and winking at them. Eckona hadn’t the patience for his mysterious airs and let Sera deal with him. And Sera had told him, in no uncertain terms, how she would skin him if he betrayed them. He had only bowed low over his arm, smiling sardonically and complimenting her eyes.

The head priest of the local temple gave a speech, mostly in modern Tevene, which Victor translated loosely to, “We’re the best ever. Dumat is with us. We hate everyone equally. Especially each other. Let’s sacrifice some blood to restore our faith, to bring the gods’ eyes back to us. This is the elves’ fault. Fuck the elves. Ecetera.”

All four of the rogues had the Fade wrapped about them. They stayed away from the crowds so not to accidentally touch anyone and disrupt it. 

Sera was vibrating like a struck hammer. She seemed to have healed well and very quickly—on her feet stubbornly after a day or two and taking off to the city afterwards. She returned, saying her new Friends were all in place for the festival.

After the priest finished speaking, someone else came up and talked.

“He’s denouncing everything ever. Butter, cheese, good books, banned books, books of poetry—well, he might be right about that one. And, Fereldan and Orlais, of course. And you, naturally,” Victor said, gesturing to Eckona. “They like to bring up the _Dread Inquisitor_ ,” he said in a mock-scary voice.

“If they could just let me go, we could both move on. I told Tevinter time and again, sometimes I just like going out with other countries.”

Victor laughed.

Drums started.

Just one, at first. A deep, thrumming _booom_ that permeated every surface, every ear, every tongue, every fragment of flesh. 

Total silence fell. A butterfly might have caught fire in a lantern and been heard from the docks. It was suffocating, building.

The drum of the deep sounded again and the rogues spread away from each other a little, preparing to start weaving through the crowd. 

Another drum joined it. Joined it with the gold-enameled sitar player from the Crimson Lantern. Smoke, fire and the music, gripping into the skin, dragging over flesh and sweat. It was easy to be swept up in it. To _hear_ \--

“Be careful,” Victor told them quietly. “Dumat is the God of Silence because sound is its own magic.”

“It….makes me feel….weird,” Eckona admitted.

“I want,” said Cole, curiously. “But I do not understand. The music pulls hard, harder than some of the hurts and thoughts.” He looked up into the crowd. “There are…so many here.” He tilted his head, shifting a little to himself, not sure what to make of the things he felt. A slow ember, burning, making his fingers grip tighter into his palms. Looking at Sera, at Eckona, at the dancers, the singers, the noble women, the slaves, at—

“Focus, Creepy,” Sera told him sharply.

“Oh. Yes. Sorry.”

“That is exactly what the music is meant to do. It’s imbued with magic. Like being drunk on sound—it helps ease minds when they watch the killing begin. And raises chances of a blood orgy by about eighty percent.”

The drums went faster, smoke was thicker, Eckona smelled hash and Embrium Milk and swallowed hard, trying to ignore the music. 

“There’s Drevin,” Sera whispered, nodding. 

At the other side of the slave stalls, the Qunari woman from the Crimson Lantern had slipped up outside. Mihris was with her.

The slaves, chained down inside of it—were mostly silent. Their fear was palpable. There was no doubt whose blood would be sacrificed tonight.

Two guards approached the stalls, which started some shuffling. Slaves backed away, whips cracked—and they grabbed a young man. He struggled, fighting—they struck him about the face. The guards drug him up onto the dais. 

The square was strangely silent, despite the pounding drums. Watching the guards slash the young man’s clothes, carving his ragged tunic off of him. The drums got louder, louder as the man was pulled, naked, across the dais towards the altar. He cried out, fighting, biting, kicking at them—

The drums were louder. Louder. _LOUDER_.

To the north, where the docks were, a spark of light jumped into the sky, bursting in silent color and falling like teardrops into the air.

That was the signal—Rainier and Josephine and half the Chargers were on their way in the first ship.

“Cole. You’re up.”

In an instant, Cole was gone. The other three, Fade still wrapped about them, began to make their way through the crowds.

Eckona silently counted seconds in her head before she and Sera stepped out into the square. Sera dropped the Fade so she could loose an arrow and Eckona covered her with the Fade as soon as she did.

The arrow whistled through the air and _thonked_ into the altar’s statue of Dumat. The priests paused, knives paused on the young man’s skin and then there was a flash of light and Cole appeared before them. They’d dressed him in black and red, with a flowing cape and heavy hood. He stood on the dais, facing the crowd, facing the priests. 

“You cannot bind me,” Cole said to them. “But you may try.”

He vanished, reappearing on the altar, standing at the feet of the chained young man. He looked down at the priests. 

Silence fell over the crowd, looking at each other uneasily as the drums died out. 

“Who is that?” someone murmured

“That’s not a mage. He’s not a human. What _is_ he?”

“Is it a spirit of Dumat?”

“Could be?”

“Who are you?” The priest demanded of Cole.

One of them grabbed for him, to yank him off the altar—

Cole spun, flashing silver and glinting blood and shades of himself, stabbing and rounding and slashing throats. Blood burst everywhere.

Eckona evoked her spirit hand. The crowd was starting to back away, someone was screaming for guards a few blocks over. She raised the glowing palm to the sky and a small rift appeared above her. It whirled and _burst_ throwing light high into the sky--

And across the city—at the temple—something exploded. The ground rocked. 

_Nice work, Cullen._

Cole released the young man, people in the crowd screamed as another explosion belched up orange light and fire into the darkness from the direction of the textile markets. That would be Cassandra. 

The crowd seemed to implode, people tripping over each other, trying to get out of the square. Guards came flooding in from all directions, mages and magisters sprang forward. Victor slashed through them and Eckona grabbed into the Fade and catapulted herself forward to help Cole.

Sera lit an arrow on fire and she loosed it to the roof of the slave market stalls. Drevin already had a gate ripped off, using it to beat a guard in the face as she commanded the slaves to run. Run for the docks. Get to the docks. There was a ship waiting. Get to the docks. Mihris ran ahead of them to clear a path.

Chaos reigned around them. Sera smiled, lighting a second arrow and taking a lazy shot at the head priest. His shriek heralded his immolation, flailing as he roasted inside his armor.

Drums were abandoned, someone tried to grab Cole from behind and the Golden Sitar-player swung her instrument like a bat, clobbering the magister in her face.

Friends of Red Jenny seemed to suddenly swarm from the woodworks, stabbing, slashing, burning at anyone or anything in Tevinter armor or robes. Eckona jumped and dodged, absorbed in the glinting sparks that flicked in and out as a Tevinter rogue engaged with her, blades locking them together—

And then….a strange feeling settled over the air.

Something washed over all of them, hot and rolling and acrid and smelling like sulfur. Something that felt…almost _familiar_.

The ground beneath them _rumbled_ , growling like some hungry beast. The Tevinter rogue met her eyes and, as one, they both stepped back—looking around.

“What the fuck…” Eckona held her arm out to balance herself.

“What is that?” The Tevinter rogue grabbed into a lamppost as the ground grumbled beneath them.

The air felt charged, saturated with magic. 

The mages and magisters were stopping too—all parties looking into the sky and at the ground when it became apparent that neither side was causing it.

Victor appeared at her side. “Something’s wrong.”

“Wrath of Dumat, I don’t suppose?” Eckona asked, attempting a half-smile as she searched the sky and then the area around them. "Everything feels too--"

And then there was an all mighty _CRACK_. The ground shook more violently and far, far to the west, over the sands and dunes, a green ray of light shot up into the sky.

Eckona felt ice race up her spine. “No….no….it couldn’t be….”

“What?” asked Victor and then becoming very still.

“What the hell is that?” demanded the Tevinter rogue.

Cole and Sera walked over, the battle having ground to an uneasy halt—as each side stared to the west.

“What the fuck is that doing out there!” Sera demanded. "That's like Coryphenis--when you closed the Breach the second time."

“It is _him_ ,” Cole cried out mournfully.

Another feeling, something like pressure weighing down on them and a blast of a roar like thunder rocked across the desert from that green light.

Several people screamed, fingers pointing up, crying out in terror. Combatants abandoned their fighting completely. 

Hundreds of eyes stared up in horror.

The blast ripped the Veil open, splintering it across the sky like a crack in a glacier. It swirled, like the one in Haven had, and then burst again. Webs of green light pierced the night sky and like a shattering mirror, pieces fell.

The Veil was falling.


	27. There Is No Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cole scrambled up, stumbling, spinning in circles. “I can feel everything! And nothing! There is—all the Stone. All the STONE! It’s all around us and in us and I _don’t want to Dream anymore!_ Varric!” He cried out, grabbing the sides of his head. “Varric!”

They snuck up on the Venatori in the Hissing Wastes. 

“Oh,” said Eckona, grinning and holding out a palm to stop the other three. “I've got this one. These two are mine.”

“You can’t just claim them!” Bull complained. He drew his great axe.

“Hey, you’re strong. I gotta go fast!” And she wrapped the Fade around her, vanishing like a heat wave into the air around them and speeding down the sand dune. She was right next to the Venatori when she said, "Scuse me, sirs? Sirs? Yeah, hi--" Her knives were flashing through the air. The spellbinder was mid-cast when one severed his arm at the elbow, sending his staff flipping away from him with his lower arm still attached. She flipped and stabbed. Two moves. Dead.

"Boom!" She grinned, jumping up to display her arms to the men. "Done! Ha-HA! Bull, you're too slow!"

"Damn, you rogues are fucking quick--"

"Dagna is amazing, right? That fade-touched stuff is _crazy_ at making me lighter. There's no drag from the Fade at all!" 

Iron Bull looked over as Cole slid down the dune to join them. “You hear her, kid? She’s starting to sound cocky. You better take her down a peg.”

“Boastful, bounding, bonding. She. Watches me when I fight.” He smiled, apparently not having realized that previous. “She wants to move like I do. The. Boasting is….is false, The Iron Bull. She doesn’t mean it.”

“Well, yeah, I…I just,” Bull sighed.

Eckona laughed, shaking her head. “Never change, Cole. Never change.” She looked around, leaning back a little and shielding her eyes against the sun. “Where’s Solas—oh, hey! Why are you still up on the dune? You trying to get a tan? We elves just burn, buddy. It’s a lost cause.”

“I thought I sensed something up here—continue. I’ll be there in a moment,” he said from the top of the dune. 

“He just doesn’t want to hang with us not-mages,” Iron Bull called up, laughing.

“Oh! Oh! Is that how it is, Solas! Don’t want to slum around with us knifey-types?”

Solas shot them a mock-glare and a rude gesture with his hand that made Iron Bull and Eckona burst out laughing. “I’m trying to sense some kind of magic that’s nearby. It could be elven.”

“You know, I didn’t think Solas was the type for those sorts of gestures,” Iron Bull said, grinning.

“At first, I didn’t either. But you know, Bull, the more I get to know him—the more I realize he is.”

“Really?” He asked, sounding interested. “So he’s just all proper on the outside.”

“Oh yeah. Definitely just on the outside.”

Iron Bull nodded, looking a little impressed. “So he’s a Circle mage on the street and an apostate between the sheets?”

Eckona sputtered, choking on a laugh that sent her into a coughing fit. “You are _never_ allowed to say that again.”

Suddenly, Cole whirled around, sky bright eyes shooting upwards. “Behind you!”

Iron Bull and Eckona started and followed Cole’s gaze to--

Something glinted, flickering as a Venatori Stalker dropped the Fade from around her. She had a mace from one of the Templars, large and heavy, which she effortlessly swung at the back of Solas’ unprotected head.

" _Vhenan!_ " Eckona took off up the sand.

Solas heard nothing, felt nothing. Everything suddenly lost as his vision blurred, a terrible prickling on the side of his head. There was a suction of air, pulling everything out of his lungs, the side of his face collided with something that muted all the sound in his ears. He had the faintest sensation of sand on his cheek.

Then nothing.

Eckona scrambled up the sand, kicking grit out behind her. The Stalker had dropped the mace and drawn a knife. She knelt over the fallen elf, looking right at the three of them, smiling as she raised the blade. It came down in an arc of glimmering silver.

Eckona grabbed deep into the Fade, twisting it and then it _snapped_ , throwing her up the side of the dune. She hadn’t even made her footing when she grabbed into the sand and launched herself at the Stalker. She bowled into her, scuffling, throwing up sand as her dagger came out and punched down into the stalker’s chest.

She instantly went limp. Eckona whirled away, sliding on the sand and wrenched her knees to trip back to Solas. “ _Vhenan!_ ” She grabbed his head, turning it gently and cried out, wordless.

The entire side of his skull had collapsed inward. Blood and bits of brain and matter had sprayed out over the sand. “N-no…no. Solas!” She flailed helplessly. “Solas!”

Cole was at the hilltop, then beside her, then beside Solas, then up on his feet as Iron Bull crested the dune. “He is dying! He hasn’t finished it yet! He hasn’t finished it!”

Iron Bull looked down at the two elves. Eckona looked about a hair away from complete panic and Solas with most of his brains dashed out over the sand. That was a damn shame. He’d seen it before, of course. But it never quite hit him the same every time it happened (haha). One of your guys is there and then, suddenly, he isn’t. 

“No,” Eckona commanded, pointing at him. “Don’t look at him like he’s already dead, Bull!”

“He _is_ already dead. Look at him. It’s amazing he’s still got a pulse. But he’s not going to make it.”

“No—go back to camp—get Dorian or Vivienne.”

“Eckona—“

“DO IT!” She screamed at him, eyes shiny green with anger and tears.

Iron Bull sighed and turned away to start the run to camp.

“Cole—go on ahead of him, he can meet you partway and escort you back.”

The spirit did not hesitate. He vanished, flashing along the sand and sky as fast as he could.

Eckona drug her cloak off and gently lifted his head to cushion it. She kept above him, to shade him from the beating sun. How _did_ he still have a pulse? She didn’t know—but he did. She felt it—a faint pitter-patter as his blood moved through him. She took out her last two potions, pouring them over the wound as gently as she could. “Solas,” she murmured to him, touching the unmarred side of his head. “You must not sleep now, Solas…”

One of his eyes barely opened, a sliver of blue. 

“Solas!”

“ _Ghilan’nain,_ ” he whispered. " _Ar souvera..._ ”

And then, suddenly, the scent of metal and pepper vanished. She stared down at him. “Solas?”

His eye closed.

“Solas!” She held him, looking over his face helplessly, fingers shaking against his skin and in his blood. 

She heard a cough. Her eyes glazed over, turning slowly to look at the Venatori Stalker. She was getting up, or trying to. 

Eckona did not register much else. She put down Solas’ head and stroked her thumb along his high cheekbone. The blood on his lips was the only copper she could smell on the air. Something sweeter had taken over. Something more like a flower—but she couldn’t place it. It didn’t matter. 

She stood up and drew her second dirk. Her vision was tunneling to a narrow point of cold, black rage, seeing only the Stalker who had _killed_ him. And why was she _still alive_. 

The woman struggled to her feet, raising a hand to grab onto her other dirk and pull it out. “You will never--“

Eckona slammed the dagger into the woman’s gut, lifting her off her feet and then slamming her into the sand. She grabbed her dirks in both hands, fingers tight and wet with Solas’ blood. She stabbed into the woman blindly, mindlessly. Over and over, the silver arcing like lightning. She met the barest resistance from bone and tendon. But it all shattered before her: chest, collarbones, shoulders, face. The rogue’s eyes burst and blood slopped with smears of jelly. 

Eckona was totally silent, tears on her face ignored. Holes in the other face—not enough, not enough, not enough-- _there_. And then she grabbed the Venatori by the hair to tilt the remains of the chin back and Eckona plunged her dirk into the throat, sawing through muscle and tendon and snapping bone. The dirk chipped and splintered. She didn’t notice. Too much blood everywhere. Coppery and sticky and drying to her face and fingers and—

There was a soft touch on her shoulder.

She turned her head and started violently. She blinked hard several times, staring. “S-Solas?”

“ _Vhenan_ …she is dead. Come away.”

Eckona looked down at the Venatori and then complied, leaving her dirk buried in the rogue’s neck. She stared at him. “Solas?”

It….it _was_ him, right? She stared at him, dumbfounded. He was still bloody. The side of his head had scabbed hard and stiff from her potions—but she’d known it wouldn’t have saved him at that point. Nothing should have…

And yet, here he was. 

He stepped closer to her. “ _Vhenan_ , I am here.”

“I…I couldn’t—your magic—it was gone. I…”

“Yes,” he said slowly. “Other power had to take over.”

“How….” She asked faintly, staring at him. Her fingers touched his shoulder, tilting her head to examine the side of his.

“It smells like spidermums, doesn’t it?”

Oh…that _was_ the scent.

“Yes…” And then she pulled back her hands, searching his eyes. “You’re….not Solas?”

“Not completely.”

“You’re….are you a demon?”

“No.”

She looked passed him, as if he were a ghost or spirit. But his body was not lying on her cloak in the sand. The man was standing right in front of her from a wound no-one should have survived. It…. _was_ him….but…

“How did you…”

“I healed—I simply needed more magic to do so.”

She reached out, gently curling her fingers in his blood-soaked robes. “What _are_ you, Solas?”

“Something more—but that cannot come to light now.”

“Solas,” she breathed softly. “There’s something…isn’t there?” She half-smiled sadly. “I love you and I don’t want to be suspicious…but—“

“Then don’t,” he said. “Leave it to that. You reached into the Fade, somehow using what I’ve taught you to heal me and thus, I survive.” 

“But I _didn’t_ , Solas—you feel different. Something—“

He reached out, touching the side of her face.

The Anchor flared, shooting lightening pain up her shoulder and into her chest. She cried out, stiffening up, eyes emptying out, and then starting to sink. Solas took her in his arms. All at once, she smelled pepper and metal again, as he knelt, lowering her to the sand. 

“S-Solas,” she breathed. “Please—don’t—“

“I am sorry,” he said softly. “This must be done. You must _forget_ \--“

 

And that was how Iron Bull found them, positions switched. Solas kneeling in the sand over the Inquisitor. He skidded to a stop as he jumped off the Dracolisk. Dorian and Cole rode in next to him.

“I thought you said Solas was badly hurt?” Dorian said, hopping down from his mount.

Iron Bull glanced at Cole and then looked back at Solas. “……..he was.”

Dorian hurried over. “Solas? What happened? Is she injured?”

“No,” Solas said, quietly. “The Venatori rogue over there nearly surprised her while she was tending to me, the Inquisitor killed her.”

Dorian knelt, checking Eckona’s face. She was soaked in blood. “This isn’t all _her_ blood, is it?”

“I don’t think any of it is.”

Dorian took her hands. Her gloves were shredded and slashed. “Looks like she got a bit enthusiastic with the Venatori, hmm?” He pulled her gloves off and made quick work of the splinters of metal from where her dirk had fractured. 

Cole stared down at Eckona and then at Solas. “…she cried out your name. She knew you were slipping away.”

“You should _definitely_ be dead,” Iron Bull said, staring hard at Solas. “Why is she unconscious?”

“I believe she may have reached into the Fade and found a way to heal my wound—in her desperation, she likely drew too much. It may have activated the Anchor, sensing danger to the host.”

The Iron Bull looked at the corpse of the Venatori. The rogue had been stabbed so many times that her face was just a mess of blood and pulp. There was almost nothing left resembling a human. Behind Solas, blood and bits of bone and matter were still lying in the sun. But the elf’s face was an impenetrable mask of politeness. 

“Next time, do try not to scare us,” Dorian said, smiling. “The others are worried, you know. I was in the middle of a very important game of Spades Cross with Sera.”

Solas smiled. “Your concern warms my heart.” 

“Anything for you,” Dorian quipped, chuckling and going over to the rogue to search her pockets. “Looks like Eckona thought you were dying, at least. Ha—look at all that anger.” He gestured to the ruptured eyes of the Venatori.

“You called her the guide and she wept and everything became dark and cold and full of fury. She thought you were dead.”

Solas smiled gently. “Fortunately, I was not. With any luck, she’ll be happy with that outcome.”

“Yeah, with any luck…she’ll remember it,” Iron Bull said quietly, crossing his arms.

“I hope she does,” Solas agreed. “I have been teaching her to use what magic she can. If she _did_ reach that deeply into the Fade and somehow healed my wound—that’s something worth knowing. It could have simply been the Anchor, of course. But we won’t know until she wakes.” The mage picked up the Inquisitor and started towards the mounts.

Dorian looked bemused. “I didn’t take you for theatrics, Bull.”

“There _weren’t_ any,” Iron Bull murmured, low and cautious, watching the mage lift the Inquisitor onto one of the dracolisks. 

Dorian did the slightest of double-takes, peering at Iron Bull and Cole—noting how their expressions were mirroring each other.

“Let’s get back,” Iron Bull said instead, turning away.

Dorian looked at Cole, confused.

The spirit was watching Solas and the Inquisitor as the elf mounted up behind her. “He was half-way there but she found flowers instead of metal. She couldn’t know.”

Dorian shrugged. After all, without the context, hardly anything Cole said made much sense. “Come on, Cole. You can ride back with me.”

 

 

“I should have killed that smug asshole,” Iron Bull grunted. 

He, like the others, could not tear his eyes away.

“This is…impossible….” Anock staggered back, staring up as the sky became fractals. “The Veil—“

“Is it coming _down_?” Tam cried out.

A diamond of sky seemed to separate from the rest, floating, falling and then shattering. It spun like shards of a glass, knifing through the air. Cullen grabbed Tam, yanking her under the awning of the temple of Dumat. Dorian threw up a shield. The shards of sky smashed into it, blowing holes through the buildings around them. 

“That’s the Fade,” Dorian breathed, staring where the sky had fallen, where, beyond—he could see pale green and white light. 

A chunk of rock the size of a Chantry fell through the sky.

“We have to go—“ Cullen started.

“Go where!? The fucking sky is falling!” Anock threw his hands up.

“We should get to the others. Cassandra went to the markets but Eckona should still be in the square,” Iron Bull agreed. 

Dorian readied his staff. “Right. Down the road, turn left at the Red district. It’s probably six hundred yards to the square beyond that.”

"I appreciate that you know the approximate distance from the Red district to the city square," Iron Bull told him, grinning and rolling his shoulders.

“Ready?” Cullen asked Tam.

She was shaking but she nodded. She readied her own staff. She tore her eyes away from the sky. _Don’t look at it. Don’t panic._ “Yes. Let’s go.”

“All right. Bull?” Cullen waited for the other warrior’s nod and then braced his boot into the ground. “Go!”

The five of them took off, racing down the street amid screaming, panic. Rocks came hurtling down, blazing fire, smashing buildings and leveling a stable. Cullen nearly got his head taken off—would have if Tam hadn’t suddenly jumped on him, bowling him over. The two rolled and she spun up, throwing a shield around them and swinging her staff like a bat. A ball of flame slammed into another rock, bashing it off course from them and into another building. 

Dust and smoke fogged the street, the city was burning, animals crying out and people screaming in terror. Dorian skidded around the corner first.

Just in time for something to slam into the road, igniting in a fireball. It blasted the mage off his feet, slamming him through the windows of a shop.

Bull immediately derailed, running to him. “Dorian!”

Anock raced up behind him. “Is he all right?”

“Does he fucking _look_ all right?!” Bull snapped, grabbing the Tevinter mage. His skin was blistered and he was bleeding through his body armor. Broken glass showered down around them. The Bull covered Dorian with his bulk. The mage’s eyes were dazed but open. “C’mon, you fucking Vint.” He threw Dorian over his shoulder as Cullen reached them and helped him up. 

Tam grabbed Anock and shook him. “Throw up a shield around them next time, you idiot!”

Anock looked at the four of them. “I…I just—“

Cullen sneered in disgust. “C’mon, go!” He pulled Tam forward, pushing her to run ahead of him. He turned away from Anock to follow. Iron Bull, carrying Dorian, did the same. Anock looked around helplessly and then ran after them.

Demons appeared as they sprinted passed, slamming down into the stone streets, roaring and flailing, confused and enraged. Lightning struck the bell tower, blasting it off its perch. It smashed into the road. Above, the clouds burned, the stars turned red and green light bathed the world through holes in the Veil. It was coming down in a rain of pieces—not all at once like a curtain or scarf but like a shattered mirror. 

Tam took the lead, blasting rock and spirit energy and fragments of the Veil away as they ran. Dust was making her eyes water. She barely stopped in time when two magisters were thrown through an alley, skidding to a blood-soaked stop before them. A Fear demon followed. Cullen grabbed her by the back of her cloak, jerking her behind him. 

“Make yourself useful, elf,” Iron Bull commanded Anock. He laid Dorian down carefully. “Protect him. Or I’ll tear your fucking arms off and put you out of your misery.”

 

 

In the square, the ground shook violently, wrenching the four rogues to the dust.

“Fucking shit! I am so fucking done with the Fade!” Sera raged. 

Cole scrambled up, stumbling, spinning in circles. “I can feel everything! And nothing! There is—all the Stone. All the STONE! It’s all around us and in us and I _don’t want to Dream anymore!_ Varric!” He cried out, grabbing the sides of his head. “Varric!”

As if summoned, Cassandra came into the square from the north side. “Eckona!”

Varric was a shade of deathly grey as he staggered into the square and then suddenly cried out, grunting. The dwarf fell to his knees, holding his head.

Cassandra turned. “Varric!” She dashed back to him.

“Cassandra!” Eckona screamed for her as the fountain on the north side burst. Water froze in the air like ice on glass, Bryndis throwing a shield up around them.

And then the ground _lurched_ and everyone tumbled to the stone. It pulled up and _away_ , like a tooth coming free of the gums. The earth _quaked_.

Eckona skidded, scrambled to her feet and dodged a support beam from a building. It streaked passed them like a javelin, impaling the head priest’s carriage. 

The center of the square ripped away from the rest of it. It was like strings had been attached to their spines as gravity suddenly reversed itself. Eckona, Sera, Cole and Victor were swept off their feet and flew _up_.

Eckona saw Cassandra get up, screaming something—but she couldn’t hear it. The four rogues slammed into a large chunk of rock that was spinning in place several hundred feet above the ground. Cole was the only one who was able to grab into it, landing safely. He dashed across the stone, snatching at the other three and pulling them close. “Hang onto me!” he commanded. “We’re going to—“

Gravity reversed _again_. The four went plummeting back towards the city. 

“There is no earth!” Cole yelled into the wind.

And the ground vanished. They fell through the city square and into white light.

“NO!” Cassandra howled.

Everything under the city heaved and bucked, throwing Cassandra off her feet. Green lightning arced across the massive hole in the city square. She got up, throwing herself back into Bryndis’ shield and kneeling next to Varric. She drew her sword and planted it into the stone. 

“We have to run!” Uleran bellowed, kneeling beside Varric. “We’ll die if we stay here!”

“There’s nowhere to go!” Cassandra snapped and then her will _pulsed_. Her ability as a Seeker allowed her to manipulate the Fade, forcing it into a mold. It was the same method she used to control rogue mages, like the Templars did. She focused on the ground, on the circle of the barrier Bryndis had created and _pulsed_ again. 

The stone around them fell away, crumbling into itself as the ground heaved again. But they stayed still. Cassandra forced her will to establish reality according to her rules. It left the five of them floating on an upside-down pyramid of rock midst the chaos. 

Varric stirred, groaning.

“Varric! Are you all right?” Cassandra barked.

He shuddered. “I’m…..no. I’m really really not.”

Arlath stood over them with his axe, watching in horror. The city of Nessum was a smoking ruin, half of it had collapsed into itself, most of the square had fallen into the white void with Eckona. His eyes scanned the ground, now a hundred feet below them. “There! There’s Cullen and Iron Bull and Tam!” 

But they could only watch the warriors and Tam fighting some sort of demon. Mages, likely from the city itself, stumbled upon them and were drawn into the fight—all of them banding together to take it down. 

Sides were forgotten between them. Thunder rolled over the city. The stars vanished from the night. A massive swathe of the Veil detached, fluttering and then shattered. 

One of the Tevinter mages gestured something and Arlath watched Cullen and the others take off after them. But wherever they went, Arlath didn’t know.

Shards of the Veil came knifing into Bryndis’ barrier, forcing the Keeper to her knees.

Above them, the Veil was gone from their section of sky. A spirit appeared inside their barrier.

It looked at them. And then touched Cassandra’s shoulder. 

_Mercy._

And without any intermediate process of falling—they were back at the ground. Their rocky ship crunched down into the remaining chunks of the square. And all at once, there was no sound.

Cassandra panted. It felt loud. “What happened!” she demanded. “Why--!”

The spirit whispered in front of her. It peered at her, tilting its head. “You have been touched by Faith,” said the spirit.

“Yes,” Cassandra said, looking around at the others, still clutching her sword hilt.

“I will lead you to safe passages. Come.” It turned away.

Cassandra exchanged a look with Arlath—and then she was scrambling up. Arlath grabbed up Varric and threw him over his shoulder. Uleran grabbed the dwarf’s crossbow and they all raced after the spirit.

 

 

 

In Halamshiral, Vivienne stood on a balcony. All she could do was stare. The city was burning, screams of the dying, of the running, of the fighting. Despite all her machinations and clever plays….her world crumbled around her. 

 

 

 

Far to the west, June’s orb fell to pieces in Fen’Harel’s hand. 

Ah, so that was how Corypheus had done it. He had used the deaths of thousands at the Conclave to weaken the Veil—like pushing a pin into silk. That allowed him to unlock the orb without using the power inherent to it. So the orbs could only be used once--maybe twice--to open a Breach. 

There was no going back. Fen’Harel’s fingers shook, staring enraptured as the Veil fell. 

Next to him, Minaeve stared, mouth open, horrified.

“The demons won’t be around for long,” Fen’Harel said. “Only until the entirety of the Veil has fallen. Then they will be simply spirits again, able to pass to our world with no barriers.”

Minaeve looked sidelong at him. “Are you insane?”

Fen’Harel started and jerked his eyes over to her. 

She immediately recoiled, realizing she’d spoken out loud. “I’m sorry, _Fen’Hahren_. I—I was—in shock.”

“Yes, I imagine so,” he said quietly. “Don’t worry. You will understand once the Veil is completely gone. It breaks apart now in pieces, like a peel of an orange. To get to the fruit, it must come away. But afterwards, it’s worth it, is it not?”

She stared at him in silence. 

He didn’t seem to require an answer. “The Veil will likely take several days to fall completely. But—it shouldn’t take longer than it took to erect it.”

Minaeve found her voice. “…how…how long did it take to put it up?”

He looked thoughtful. “Long enough that I had to seal the others away _first_.”

“Are they…..not…sealed now?”

“No. They’re not.” Fen’Harel smiled, face illuminated by the green light. “Now it’s only a matter of time. They will come to _me_.”


	28. Mother of Halla

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her fingers tightened, nails digging into her palms. But she was _not_ defenseless. And if they thought for one blood-soaked moment that she would accept this humiliation—they were _sadly_ mistaken.
> 
> She would show them Madame de _Fer_.

Val Royeaux was burning.

Leliana had the gates opened immediately and the main square in front of the Grand Cathedral was full of people. They packed in as tightly as possible. She watched from one of the hall windows. The night before had been utter chaos. Leliana had seen many things in her long, lucrative career as an assassin and spymaster. But nothing could have ever prepared her for the fall of the Veil. 

She had walked out into the courtyards, like everyone else at the Grand Cathedral, staring in open horror as the sky fell. And then the demons appeared and rock and brimstone hurtling down and smashing into buildings on land and ships in the harbor. 

The people descended into a complete panic. 

Her mind went instantly to Solas. What could he gain from this? What was worth _this_? He’d been on her board, of course. An eventuality she would have to deal with after the Exalted Council, according to Cassandra. The strange elf would apparently see them all die to resurrect his dead people. She didn’t take that at face value—not like the Inquisitor and the others had. No one raised the dead. No one went back in time. He wanted to restore magic as it was? Sure, restore magic. He wanted to give the elves their immortality back—who knew if that would actually happen? There were too many unknown variables for him to have just thought: _Certainly, tear down the Veil and everything goes back to normal._

Had there been dwarves then? Because there were dwarves _now_ and none of them seemed to be in very good shape. Runners were coming in from all over the area to report—this madness was happening everywhere. The cities were the worst, where the destruction was absolute. She’d had a bird from Minrathous that the city was a free-for-all as slaves rebelled, killing their masters. Magisters and mages responded in kind and it had descended into a carnal blood-bath. King Alistair in Fereldan had instituted martial law almost immediately. His city might be the only one that wasn’t total bedlam. There had been looting, riots and fires everywhere—but there weren’t any stories of a massacre. Not yet, anyway.

Antiva City had closed its gates and the merchant princes struggled to restore any semblance of order. She had a letter by bird that morning, asking if she knew the whereabouts of Josephine Montiliyet. If only she did. She’d certainly feel at least a small comfort knowing whether or not her friend was still alive. 

Nothing had come out of Halamshiral, which was concerning. She had spies there, of course—but she’d received no word. The Empress, Gaspard, Vivienne—the whole court—no word. The elves who lived in the city had apparently not left it—for Lydes had also closed its gates and that was closer than most any other city. Serault would have difficulty getting word out normally, nevermind now—but its sister-city, Alyons, had sent word of pandemonium, fighting in the forests against demons and monsters and now, apparently, the forest was burning. 

The only group who didn’t seem to be panicking were the remaining Grey Wardens. It seems Eckona’s refusal to banish them would now show its consequences. They had banded together in the former site of Haven more than a year ago, rebuilding the village into a fortress. The leader, Stroud, was still around, though he had selected another to officially lead the Wardens. It was a human male, a Trevelyan from the Free Marches, apparently. She’d heard he was a mage who had come south during the Breach after a portion of his family was killed at the Conclave. His name was Ivan, apparently. Haven Fortress now had walls of stone, training grounds and was considering lifting the secrecy ban on knowledge regarding Wardens. Like the Seekers, when they closed ranks around a problem—things only seemed to get worse. But all that was on hold as Warden Trevelyan had opened his gates and urged civilians to take refuge there. The Wardens he commanded were now fully digging in, preparing for blight, demons, magic, seige—and everything else. 

She’d sent them a bird an hour ago, asking for an update. Hopefully, the bird would make it there.

As dawn arrived, it brought little comfort. In the night, the sky glowed green, casting rays of light that set all her nerves on fire. In the day, the sky was no less terrifying. But they could see deeply into it. The University had set up their observatories, using incredible scopes to peer deep into the Fade. It was above them for now but if reports out of Seheron were to be believed—the collapse of the Veil would eventually reveal the Fade all around them. Soon their world and the Fade would be one. 

Then what happened? Then what would Solas do? 

She put her palms on the table of maps. It might be time for her to disappear from The Cathedral for awhile and bring out the Spymaster. Someone had to find Solas. She knew Eckona and the others were looking, spies combed the countryside, ports, anywhere they could slip a spy in to see if they heard anything. But while Varric was an adequate Spymaster, she was better. She had done what she could here—with a contingency plan in place, she could leave the Cathedral. Solas was the head of the mess. Cut off the snake’s head and the rest would fall apart. He couldn’t be the only one who could restore the Veil. This personal feud he apparently had with his brethren that had driven him to unleash terror, chaos and death—could not be permitted to stand. 

All efforts must be redirected. 

She must find Solas and kill him.

 

 

Vivienne heard the screaming before it reached her. She grabbed her staff, preparing to defend herself but a Templar was the one who greeted her when the door opened. There was no sign of whoever had screamed. 

“Am I now permitted to leave?”

“No, the Empress has requested your presence.”

The Templar escorted her down the halls. Halamshiral was mostly empty until they reached the grand ballroom. 

Here, the walls were lined with elves, dwarves and humans. They watched over the balconies. Empress Celene was mounted on a wooden slat. She’d been nailed to it. She still appeared to be alive but she was not moving much. Her lovely hair stuck to her face with sweat and blood. Gaspard was already dead. Vivienne could just make out his doublet hanging from a sheet of glass that he’d been forced through.

“Have we descended into the carnality of dumb beasts?” Vivienne asked.

“I wouldn’t talk much about that if I were you, Madam de Fer,” an elf told her as another pushed her to walk forward onto the ballroom floor.

“Lady Vivienne,” a herald sang out, “First Enchanter to the Empress Celene, youngest enchanter of the Circle, mistress of Duke Bastian, veteran of the Breach, sorceress of the Inquisition. Manipulator of death, complicit in the hunt and murder of elves, dwarves, and apostates. Known to treat friends, allies, servants as little but—“

“Is this a trial? What a farce,” Vivienne scoffed.

“Murderer of Duke Bastien with intent to steal holdings and power from his family, fully prepared to blame the Inquisitor should her crime be brought to light.”

An elf stood at the end of the ballroom as Vivienne took her walk, aware of every eye on her from the mezzanine. He put away his scroll. “For these crimes—we would have you die. However, you did assist in stopping the Breach and Corypheus. So, you will be stripped of all you have: titles, holdings and status and exiled from the city.”

“Then you send me to die in a ditch instead of killing me here,” Vivienne said, crossing her arms. She would have expected to see Briala at the head of this mess but the elf had been absent from court for several weeks and no one had heard from her. 

Two Templars strode down to her. 

“As a precaution, Vivienne, you will be contained by Templars until you are gone from our city.” The elf waved a hand.

Two of her own servants appeared, neither of which—she suddenly remembered—she’d treated very well. “If you have any sense, you won’t—“

The Templars turned their powers on her, suppressing her magic. The two servants came to her with knives, cutting off her beautiful clothes, throwing her mask away. She seethed, standing naked in front of this vengeful court. Someone chuckled and threw a burlap smock down from the mezzanine. One of the Templars grabbed it and gave it to her. She scowled and pulled it on. 

The Templars marched her out of the palace, through the city. Her feet were cut on rocks and debris from the Veil. One of them shoved her through the gate and the other closed it. 

Vivienne stared at them, hating them, hands curling into fists.

And then they turned and walked away. Like she was nothing. Like she was totally irrelevant. 

The Circle mage turned away and walked across the bridge leading to the main road. She had not a copper to her, her titles taken (for _now_ ), Celene and Gaspard both murdered. The Veil was falling, the countryside was probably in shambles. What a Tuesday to be alive.

Her fingers tightened, nails digging into her palms. But she was _not_ defenseless. And if they thought for one blood-soaked moment that she would accept this humiliation—they were _sadly_ mistaken.

She would show them Madame de _Fer_.

 

 

 

Ghilan’nain was brought to them by Andruil. “She has a way with animals,” said the huntress. Andruil had beautiful red-brown hair that was bound in a braided plait and her leathers were magnificent silver. She presented the girl to the other two Elders. What a find, really—one of the People, dark eyes, beautiful white hair and all but hidden away in a tiny shack in the wilderness. 

“Where did you find her?” Elgar’nan asked, sitting back in his chair. The main hall of the manor was long with massive fireplaces on both sides. He stood up to walk around the girl, examining her like he might a choice cut of silk. “She seems almost Touched.”

“Like I said, curious way with animals,” Andruil repeated. “I found her in the woods, in a ragged filthy shack. I had to clean her up just to bring her here. Let alone when she actually got here.”

Elgar’nan grabbed the woman’s chin, tilting her eyes up to his. “There is power in her.”

“She is the one who created the dragons, the giants, the monsters of our world. Her imagination brings forth the fruits of my hunt.”

“Had you any other purpose—you’d have missed her entirely,” Elgar’nan scoffed. 

Andruil rolled her eyes. “I get out more than you, I should think.”

Mythal stood. “She is not a piece of meat, Elgar. Let her go. She is terrified of us.”

Elgar let a finger linger on her chin before he let the woman go, folding his arms as Mythal moved in. 

“Tell me, who taught you?” Mythal asked her.

Ghilan’nain’s eyes were dark as night. They flickered over the assembled Elders. Never had she thought her bad luck would bring her _here_. “No one did, my lady,” she managed, lowering her eyes in deference.

“You are naturally gifted then. And where do you get your ideas for your monsters?”

Ghilan’nain swallowed to try to stop her throat was closing up. “I…I dream them, my lady.”

“And your parents?”

“Gone, my lady.”

“Gone?”

“I…do not know where they are, my lady.”

“So, you live away from the People, you aren’t a slave, you aren’t marked, you have a curious talent for creating monsters without any training.”

“How are you at fighting?” Elgar’nan asked, waving a slave over to pour more wine.

“I do not fight much, my lord.”

Andruil snorted. “She had plenty of bows in her shack. She knows how to use them—animals are just dumb beasts, after all. They could turn on her at any time.”

“They did not, usually—they—they were my friends.” And then corrected hurriedly, “Ah—my lady.”

Andruil waved a hand, dismissive. “She is graceful and strong. Very graceful. I would like to bring her into my service.”

Mythal shrugged. “It matters little to me what strays you pick up but, as we did with Elgar’nan’s apprentice—I suppose we might council with the others about it.” She smiled. “I pity you if they refuse Andruil. You’ll be a slave here before you can escape.”

Ghilan’nain felt her heart clench, hands going icy cold.

“Are the others still out—Din and Dirth?”

Mythal smiled. “Of course. You’d think a spymaster and an assassin could find better things to do than slum around in brothels and arenas. They ought be back by nightfall. In the meantime—go clean the girl.”

“Again?”

“And take down her hair and have it combed. It’s a tangled mess. She isn’t like to earn anyone’s eye with those rags either. Put her in something appropriate—have Sylaise help you. If nothing else, she’s decorative.”

“Come on,” Andruil commanded and walked away.

Ghilan’nain cast about uncertainly before bowing to the Lord and Lady and hurrying off after Andruil.

 

At dusk, Ghilan’nain’s hair was combed and left free about her shoulders. Andruil had introduced her to Sylaise—her sister. Sylaise was a powerful alchemist, as Ghilan’nain already knew. As anyone already knew. These were the most powerful elves in the kingdom. The last place Ghilan’nain wanted to be was put on display in front of them. But she had no choice. Sylaise dressed her in green and silver, adorning her hair in crystals and emeralds. 

Sylaise did not have the wild beauty of Andruil. She was plain and practical. While Andruil hunted and ran the fields and scouted the lands of Arlathan, Sylaise stayed at the manor, the House of Elders—it was called. Sylaise stayed and studied alchemy and magic. The war was over—but it never hurt to be prepared, even with all the continent laying at their feet. 

“She’ll do, I suppose,” Sylaise waved a hand. “Just keep Dirth and June away from her.”

“They can get their own apprentices.”

“Is she to be your apprentice?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps just my servant but she is beautiful and creates fantastic creatures. I couldn’t just leave her to rot in the woods. What does it matter?”

“It doesn’t,” Sylaise shrugged. “We’re the Elders. We’ll just kill her if she can’t be controlled.”

Ghilan’nain stared at the floor, trying not to hear them talk about her like she wasn’t in the room. 

“Right then—go. Elgar will have council over supper, if you’ve a mind to come down for once.” Andruil put her palm on Ghilan’nain’s back and pushed her towards the door. “Come on, goat, you’re out of the pasture now,” Andruil said to the girl.

Ghilan’nain walked as quietly as she could. The halls here were heavy with power, her stomach was tight and hurting from nerves as Andruil led her to the main hall. Other slaves, marked on their faces by who they belonged to, shot her pitying glances. But there was nothing they could do. The last person one of the Elders had brought in had been forced to fight to the death. The one before that had been—well, something terrible had happened to him. He’d vanished somewhere around June’s forge and hadn’t been recovered. The one before that was Elgar’nan’s and he was still around—at least for now.

The room looked much the same as before, only now it was dusk. They great stained glass windows were heavy with beams of colored light. They danced over her white hair as she was brought in. Andruil sat down. The girl stood awkwardly, not sure what to do. But as no one said anything, she kept her feet.

“Look at her,” Mythal chuckled. “So nervous.”

“She ought to be,” Elgar’nan said, letting his eyes roam over the girl.

Sylaise appeared moments later without ceremony, sitting across from her sister. She folded her hands as a slave poured her wine. 

Ghilan’nain did not move. The four Elders appeared to be waiting for something more.

It came in the form of raucous laughter and another elf entered the hall.

“The slaves said you had something for us to see?” Dirthaman said, striding into the room. He was dressed resplendently in silver and black.

“We might have done this earlier, had you not been out corrupting the others,” Mythal said, hooding her eyes.

Elgar’nan gestured, about to speak—when June, Din, and his apprentice came through the door. The men were laughing at some joke. 

June’s eyes were bright and merry, teasing the apprentice, “Oh, now what will you do? Oh no—she’s got feathers—going to run away like some unwetted boy?”

“I have done plenty of not-running,” said the apprentice, grinning. “Not that you’ve much to say, my lord.”

“They like me—big arms.”

“They’re whores—they’re paid to tell you you have big arms, my lord,” the apprentice countered.

“Why even bother paying them,” Falon’Din grunted. “It’s not as though it’s any particularly enlightening experience.”

“Because you’re the ugly one, Din,” Dirthamen told him, shoving him and smiling.

The apprentice did a slight double-take, going quiet when he saw the young lady standing at Andruil’s shoulder. He sauntered over to Elgar’nan’s side. “My lord.”

“Ah, Solas. Meet Ghilan’nain—apparently a favored of Andruil.”

“Another?” said Solas, half-smiling. 

"Fuck you."

“She looks a child,” June said, eyes twinkling as he sat down at the table.

“How old are you, child?” Dirthaman asked, eyeing her.

“My lord, I have seen four centuries of winter.”

Din rolled his eyes. “That’s so young.”

“Ah—yes, my lord,” she stammered.

“Why does Andruil want you? You don’t seem much good for hunting.”

“Pleasure?” June asked, getting up again to study the girl. He ran calloused fingers through her white hair. 

“She created the _dragons_ ,” Andruil told them. “She’s extremely talented but she needs a teacher. I can hunt whatever she creates—including her mistakes.”

“ _She_ created dragons?” Dirth said, lifting an eyebrow. He curled his lip, looking over the girl. “ _You?_ ”

“Y-yes, my lord,” she said softly, trying not to cringe away, feeling June still skimming his fingers in her hair.

“How?”

“I-I—“

“She’s _mine_. Not yours,” Andruil interrupted. “She doesn’t share anything with you, Dirth.”

“Maybe I want her instead.”

Andruil raised her eyebrows. “Really? You’d fight me for a servant, Dirth?”

“For the right servant.”

Andruil smirked. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“Now, now, you’ll make Solas feel left out,” Sylaise grumbled, serving herself some fruit and cheese. “Are you going to make him stand all night, Elgar?”

“So I take it no one objects to bringing the girl under Andruil’s service?”

Dirthamen waved a dismissive hand. 

“Will she be marked?” June asked, standing behind her left shoulder. 

“No,” Andruil said. “I want to keep her face clear for now.” 

“Solas?” Elgar’nan said.

The apprentice started a little, looking at the Elder curiously. “My lord?”

“You are nearly one of us by now—do you object?”

“No, of course not. Lady Andruil always chooses wisely, which prey to keep.”

“He’s getting far too good at flattery,” Din groused, pouring himself a drink and shoving away a slave when she attempted to refill the pitcher.

“Easily done then. Andruil, the girl is yours. Solas—take her upstairs and get her rooms arranged.

“Of course, my lord.” Solas walked over to the young woman, gesturing for her to walk with him. 

Ghilan’nain kept quiet, walking beside the other apprentice.

“I am Solas, as you heard. I am Lord Elgar’nan’s apprentice. You are Ghilan’nain, they said. Where are you from?”

“The valley, my lord.”

His eyes moved slowly over her face and her white hair. And then he looked away, feeling oddly off-footed. “I see. No family to miss you, then? The valley was destroyed in the war, though I’ve not seen it since the fighting ended.”

“No, no family, my lord.” she answered softly. 

“It might be better that way,” Solas said and then recanted when he saw her eyes flinch. “I—I only meant that—“

“I understand, my lord. It is practical.”

Solas fell silent, a bit uncertain. He coughed a little. “Lady Andruil said you created animals.”

“Dragons, halla and others, my lord.”

“It must show a depth of feeling to be able to create things that are so beautiful and yet so different.”

She glanced over at him. “I…..suppose I would not know, my lord.” 

He smiled. “You do not have to call me that. I am an apprentice, not a lord.”

“What would you prefer I call you, my lord?”

“Just Solas would be nice.”

She nodded, looking a tad uncomfortable with the warmth in his smile. “As you wish, my—Solas.”

She stopped when he touched her arm, looking up at him.

“Ghilan’nain—I know your fear. You _cannot_ let them see your fear.” His eyes had become darker, narrowing. 

The young woman looked around them, and then asked, quietly, desperately, “What are they going to do with me?”

The apprentice’s eyes flickered. “Whatever they want.”


	29. The Lost City of Arlathan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In my head, Victor looks like the super hot guy - Ardeth Bay - from The Mummy: http://i.imgur.com/rsZKUGy.jpg  
> \-------
> 
> “Phht, was it me turning to Iron Bull as soon as we walked away and saying, _what the hell was that?!_ Haha! That guy was _so_ weird.”
> 
> “But the ram went back! That was the _weirdest_ part!” Sera said. “Haha, I think Bull was legitimately concerned, though—that the ram might be in a bad situation.”

Eckona came awake abruptly, jerking up from the ground. Except, she wasn’t on the ground. Cole had her and Sera braced against his chest, holding the two of them. Victor was lying in front of his crossed legs. 

“Cole? Where are we?”

“An inbetween place,” Cole said. 

“Like the Crossroads?”

“Yes,” he said, looking around them. “I—tried to save you but—I didn’t have time. So we fell through the light and into the Fade. Only, it’s not….the Fade now. It’s….just…..Everywhere. Now.”

“I remember Morrigan talking about the inbetween places.” She pushed herself to her feet. 

Around them was a platform of rock and tiny violets growing up inbetween the cracks in the stone. Cole had apparently willed it into being. Over the edge was bright light, patterns thrown over it like stained glass. 

“This is like the library we found through the eluvians. Platforms and rock and…a slate to work your will on.”

“Yes,” Cole said, coming up to stand beside her. 

“Is there a way out?”

Cole looked down at her, his large hat throwing a shadow over her face. “We could create one. But you have to believe it is there.”

Eckona looked sidelong at him. “Are you all right, Cole? You seem….” She searched for an adequate word. “…..different,” was all she could come up with. 

“I…don’t know,” Cole answered, fingers twisting around each other, shifting on his feet. “I had to…become more…me. I had to. I had to create more.” His eyebrows furrowed. “I…wasn’t sure there was. More. But….I…” he bowed his head. “….I did. I think.”

Eckona felt a twinge of unease. That was weird even for _Cole_. She reached out, gently touching his arm. “Cole…”

“The woman. In the square. She played beautiful music. Haunting, hunted, hallowed,” he managed, swallowing hard, starting to shake. “All of the. Everything. I. felt….something. There was terror and pain and I…I wanted to help. To help you and Sera. But both directions are tied to me now. I…have to….” He shuddered. “Cole was an apostate. A mage. I am a rogue.” He looked at her. “Or….am I both?”

Eckona turned to face him fully. “Do you….remember something about the other Cole?” 

“I…made myself forget when I became…. _less_.” He touched the Pendant of the Unbound, still sewn into a special pocket that Eckona had made sure was built into all his body armor. “Less me and more….” He struggled for a word. “….me.”

“Does the Veil coming down….is it going to change you?”

Cole’s shoulders curled in. “In the Fade I am a spirit. But here, I had to make myself real. I could be one or the other. In a way. But…now that the Veil is gone….I don’t think I can be…both.” 

“Things in the Fade simultaneously do and do not exist. But because the Fade and the real world are no longer separate….you have to exist or……not exist.” Eckona stared at him, eyes widening in realization.

“I…think so.” Cole looked at her. “I….I want to exist. I want to be…me. But…I am…afraid.”

“Cole…we…” she struggled between telling him to stay and telling him to do what he wanted. “….we care about you. All of us. We want what’s best for you. We….”

Cole suddenly smiled a little, warm. “I can feel how that scared you. You don’t want to lose me.” 

She looked down into the light. “……..no, I don’t.”

“But you also want me to do what I want.”

She nodded at him. “I’m sorry. It’s selfish to—“

“I want to stay where I’m wanted. Everyone does.”

“Then please, stay.” She suddenly embraced him. She’d never done that before—always so careful about spooking him. But suddenly it didn’t seem to matter. Cole was the kindest person she’d ever known and she hadn’t realized how much it would hurt to lose him. He had been the one constant since he’d stumbled up to the gates of Haven. Yes, the others teased her about being overprotective of him—but there was just something so pure about who and what he was. Like a lighthouse in the dark. The lonely lantern on the night path. 

She felt his hands touch her back and his head tilted, throwing a shadow over her with his hat. His cheek rested in her hair. 

“Hey….”

Eckona looked over and saw Sera beside them. “Sera…”

“Budge up, yeah? I’m traumatized for life again. I don’t know if I can take all this. Creepy?”

Cole scooped an arm around Sera and the three of them stood in a tight circle.

“We have to believe the others are still alive,” Eckona said finally.

“And that what we’re doing matters fucking _some_ where,” Sera added. “If the world doesn’t fucking end.”

“I think I need a good blend of hash right now.” Eckona managed a laugh.

“The best,” Sera laughed too, wiping her eye on Cole’s shoulder. “Some of that White Mourner. Do you remember that one weird guy in the Hinterlands. One-Eyed-Jimmy?”

Cole smiled. “He lost his Ram. Lord Woolsey.”

“Were you there for that?” Sera asked. “It was so long ago, I don’t remember.”

“No, that was before Haven. But you all had the same feeling about it.”

“Phht, was it me turning to Iron Bull as soon as we walked away and saying, _what the hell was that?!_ Haha! That guy was _so_ weird.”

“But the ram went back! That was the _weirdest_ part!” Sera said. “Haha, I think Bull was legitimately concerned, though—that the ram might be in a bad situation.”

“I hope he brought them good enough luck to get through all this shit,” Eckona smiled faintly. 

For a moment, the three of them were quiet and Eckona took a deep sigh. “All right. I feel better.”

“We ready to start then?” Sera asked quietly.

Cole ruffled their heads and smiled at them.

Eckona smiled and smoothed her hair. “Okay. Let’s think this one out. Victor? Are you…he’s not dead, is he?”

“I’m alive,” Victor called over. He was still lying on the ground. “I heard you all having a moment and figured I shouldn’t disturb it. It’s so full of saccharine despair.” The assassin bounced up, grabbing his wavy hair to pull it into a short tail. “So. Place that…is shaped by our will, right? Doesn’t it usually take some years to develop the willpower to control things in the Fade? At least, that’s what Dorian used to complain about. Constantly. At every spare moment.”

“I suppose I can try,” Eckona shrugged. “Though…Sera—“

“No!” she cried out, cringing back. “I don’t want it! I don’t want to—“

“Sera. We might not have a choice—“

“You can’t _force_ me to use magic!”

“You want to be stuck here then? If I can’t move the Fade to whatever we need—we’ll just stay here? On a rock in the middle of light and more rocks?”

Sera cast around, hands going to her head. “Shit, shit, shit.” 

Eckona turned to the edges of the platform Cole had created. “Okay. I just have to remember what Dorian taught me. Sera—c’mon.”

The other elf went to the ledge with her. “I don’t even know how to push Fade around. I just use it for the stealth cloak.”

“Then just let me draw from you.”

“What!” Sera jerked back.

“ _Sera!_ ” she said sharply.

Sera kicked the stone and submitted. “Sometimes I hate your Inquisitor-Voice.”

Cole stood behind them, watching all around them. Victor approached as well. “How do we even know where we are?”

“We don’t,” Sera drawled. 

“Is there a way to see…. _through_ one area into another? From a Crossroads into a Fade?”

The three of them looked at her. Victor shrugged. 

“Like we would fucking know,” Sera snapped.

“I just was thinking that if we could recreate portions of the Fade here—then maybe it would help us cross fully into it. But I have no idea and I don’t want to end up with my skin peeled off. Ugh—I wish Dorian were here. Even Vivienne.”

“No…Solas would have known the answer,” Cole said softly.

“I wonder where Vivi is now,” Sera said, pointedly not acknowledging Cole’s comment. “Ha, probably running around crying her eyes out. Make up all smeared like a raccoon.”

Eckona peered over the edge. The light was bright as the sun. “All right. What do we need? We have to get….somewhere.”

“That we don’t know where that is,” Victor reminded her. 

“We don’t know where _we_ are,” Sera added.

“We don’t know what’s real and what isn’t,” Victor put in.

Sera ticked off at her fingers. “We have no mage, we might get our skin peeled off.”

“The friendly spirit is being forced to turn more human since he manifested more Will in order to save us,” Victor said, “From what I gathered from your conversation, at least.”

“Oh, and we have no supplies. And—even if we get back. We have no plan.”

Eckona turned around slowly to face the two of them. “Anything _else_?” She asked, eyes narrowing dangerously.

“And an assassin-version of Dorian is a thing that exists.”

Victor burst out laughing.

 

 

 

Eckona faced the white light and sat down cross-legged on the stone. She netted her fingers together. She closed her eyes to concentrate, gathering energy, meditate. Her thoughts were sluggish at first, slow, and then came easier, a little faster, until they were rushing in: _stairs, horses, wagons, sleds, hills in snow in winter, snow, ice, skating, graceful, I am declaring it was not a subject for debate, Solas, pain still sharp, sharp dirks, blades, cold metal, the crackling a razor edge makes against flesh, Could I slit his throat if I had to would there ever be a ‘had’ to, STOP. Deep breath. Again. What do I need. Razor edge. Dirk. They stab, rip tear through silk, flesh, hearts, Veils, touch, what does it feel like—_

“Whatever happened to Nug?” Sera asked.

“Nug?” asked Victor.

“Nug,” Cole’s eyes brightened. “She had a litter. I didn’t know she could.” He sounded astounded. “I watched her when she gave birth. It was very confusing. But exciting.”

Sera stared at him. “Uh. What.”

“They were so confused but they were not afraid,” he told them. “Nugs are nice and they wanted to explore but Nug was so warm that they would wait until they were ready before going off into the world. Also, they were very tired. It’s a great deal of work to be born. I remember that.”

“You…remember being born?” Victor asked.

“I was. A ghost. A demon. And I had to make myself real to come out—come out of the Fade. I came through to _help_. It was confusing and scary and full of darkness. And then, it. Wasn’t. I could feel things. So I knew I was alive. So I was born.”

“You were already _alive_ , Creepy. You were a spirit, not dead.”

Cole looked thoughtful. “I…just was. I….was. I mean—I wasn’t. But. I didn’t have a body. That’s very important to people. Having a body.”

“Prejudice bastards,” Victor shook his head, snickering. He glanced over at Eckona, who was still sitting like a rock, silent, with head bowed over her hands. She’d been like for probably four hours. Or at least, that’s how it felt. They had no way of knowing what time it was nor how much time had passed. Though, he had to admit, the company was fascinating. The most un-elf elf he’d ever met and a ghost spirit who was becoming a person. Or something. Dorian sure had diverse friends. Then again, Victor couldn’t judge. Some of his best friends were mages. And murderers.

“Creepy, if this place works by imagination, couldn’t I just imagine some cake?”

“I think you’d have to manifest more Will for that.”

“For _cake_? It’s just cake.”

“There are a lot of things in cake,” Cole told her.

“So you’re saying if I actually work at this magic thing, I can make cake from nothing.”

“It could,” Cole said, encouragingly.

“Does it bother you, boy? That she calls you ‘creepy’?”

Cole looked at Victor. “Is it…wrong?”

“No—but I mean. It’s not really a ‘nice’ nickname, exactly.”

Sera snorted. “Varric calls him ‘kid’.”

“That’s different, don’t you think?” Victor replied.

“Not when they feel the same way,” Cole said. 

 

 

 

Three hours later, perhaps, Eckona sat up. “Okay. I think I’ve got it. Sera, come back.” 

Victor had dozed off by this point, sleeping on his pack. Cole was intensely studying the violets on the stone. Sera had been examining her bow, not really looking at it, eyes far away. She came over without a word of protest. 

“Good, right. Getting boring sitting in here. What do we do?”

“There are no memories here. So we can’t just create something because there’s nothing here that the spirits could reflect. Or—if there are any spirits here at all. Which we haven’t seen any. The only thing we have is this rock. Cole created this from memory. Cole—do you remember where you saw this stone originally?”

Cole looked at the square platform of cobblestone. “The Emerald Graves—outside of the manor of the sad girl.”

“All right—yeah, I remember that place. So—if this place works with Will. If I can… _will_ us to where the rest of this stone exists….would that….could we physically _move_ to that spot? It's basically how demons possess things in the real world, right?”

“I don’t know,” Cole answered.

“Worth a try. Let’s do it,” Sera groused. “How do you pull magic from me?”

“Sit down—you’ll feel it when I do.”

“This could hurt you both,” Cole warned them. “I will help as best I can.”

“Me too,” said Victor. “By…not. Stabbing anyone. I guess.”

“Thanks. That would be helpful,” Sera answered, chuckling.

Eckona sat cross-legged again. Sera sat beside her. Cole came and knelt to Sera, gently touching her shoulder to help her guide her magic. Eckona touched the little violets and breathed them in. Scent was a powerful memory jogger. She closed her eyes, visualizing the D’onterre Chateau. 

She felt a strange grasping sensation as the light around them shifted and moved, responding to her presence as her Will manifested over the space. 

Victor watched around them, fascinated. The trees, the sounds, the animals, the breeze, the scent of violets—it wasn’t in color (not for him, he suspected). Everything was shadowy grey and white and black. He saw flashes of memory mix around them. Her Will appeared to be attempting to stabilize the area. Victor watched a bald elf touch her spine and felt an intense sense of _longing_ associated with him. There was Cole (overprotectiveness, kindness, lemon cake with little strawberries) and Dorian (dusky roses, brave and bold, honest darkness, true friend) and someone who could only be Vivienne (envious of her knowledge and skill, grudging admiration for her intelligence and beauty). The feelings she associated with them. Her Will expanded and the memory flexed, reaching out, tunneling in one direction—like a hallway made of forest—surrounded on all sides by the white light. It was like a pathway to wherever Cole’s platform had come from.

The memory flexed again, dimming some and then stronger. The memory became more colorful (though he just saw more variations of grey), covered in patterns and stained glass—she must be drawing from Sera’s will. The feeling about the people in the memory shifted just slightly. Her intense fear of Cole slowly turning into something accepting, sisterly. Envious of Vivienne’s skill and knowledge, hating her arrogance and condescending eyes. Hating how she made Sera feel like she was in the wrong. Dorian—dapper and smiling like she did, hiding many things, sardonic, sad, sarcastic. Solas—everything was mixed up about Solas. He was right about almost everything he’d told them. He was a pillar of knowledge, calm fortitude, strength. Sera hated him for that. He didn’t seem like a person until he was with the Inquisitor. But then he took her tattoo away and betrayed them. Always offering to help her find her magic—and now she had to wonder what the purpose of that had been. 

Victor wondered about this elf, Solas. These two had such intense feelings about him that went in very different directions. He was curious what the others felt about him. It had clearly been a blow when he’d left them. Dorian had been vague about who this Solas was as a person. He’d given Victor the facts. Solas was once their friend, now an enemy. But it went so obviously beyond that. 

Victor watched Cole stay kneeling by Sera, gently nudging at her magic. 

And then there was a _rush_ of air, the light disappeared. He heard whistling wind, howling storms, darkness, so much darkness and rumbling and metal sliding on metal as—

And then it all stopped. 

Victor opened his eyes—not even realizing he’d closed them and started. “Andraste’s tits. Damn.”

They were in a forest. 

Their platform was now sitting on some stone that looked exactly like it—along with matching violets. They were in a courtyard of some kind. He stood up shakily. “Did that really happen? Are we out?”

Cole said, “Yes, we are.” 

“I—“ Sera started and then she fell backwards, unconscious.

Eckona slumped the other way.

Cole grabbed Sera so she wouldn’t hit her head and Victor hurried over to assist. The two elves were still alive but both of them were pale, faint. Cole said, in his odd way, that they had been to this chateau before and so the spirit lifted Sera and Victor picked up Eckona and they carried them inside.

“I never ever want to do that again,” Victor said quietly. “Though, I imagine they don’t either. It almost killed them.”

The spirit didn’t say much. He led him to the library, which was the only place with light and put the women on a large couch to rest. 

Both of them, as one man, seemed to be drawn to the windows afterwards.

“Holy shit….” Victor murmured, staring up into the sky.

If the world were an egg, the top had been cracked and removed. As if the sky were a basin both emptying into their world and drawing things out of it. The damage to the Veil had extended almost to the treelines.

“I was kind of hoping it would be gone when we got back,” Victor admitted.

Cole looked sidelong at him and then back up. “It will not stop. It’s too late to stop it now.”

“Any chance of you using your spirit-ness to figure out where our friends are?”

“I feel so many hurts,” Cole said to the glass. “So much. Everywhere. There is pain and fear. The dwarves have never dreamed before. They wake, terrified of visions they can’t understand. They have no concept of what a _dream_ means. Like explaining a sunset to one who’s been blind her whole life. And then, suddenly, she sees it. But doesn’t know what it is.”

“I…take that as a no.”

“I believe they are still alive,” Cole said. “But beyond that….I don’t know.”

“Well, small comfort is still comfort,” Victor said, scratching his scruff of beard. He opened the doors leading out to the courtyard and peered out under the awning. “Is that the Black City?” he asked, pointing up. His fingerless leather gauntlets were cracked, he noticed and drew his arm back to himself to examine the damage.

“Yes. It is the one thing in the Fade that…never moved.”

“What do you suppose is up there?”

Cole’s expression darkened. “Fear. Fearful faces in masked mirrors. Some have faded, others are still asleep. The hare chases the hawk and the sun burns everything.” 

 

 

 

The small ship heaved on the waves when the sky split open. Rainier grabbed Josephine, holding her as the beams of light came down, as the sky cracked and began to fall. She clung to him, crying out.

“Get below!” Krem yelled at him. “Get her below!” 

He grabbed pulled Josephine to the hatch, pushing her to go first and then following.

“What is that! The Breach again! What about the others—the slaves—Rainier, we--!”

Rainier grabbed her. “Calm down. We have to—“

The ship rocked and they tumbled to the other side of the deck. 

“We have to go back!”

“My lady, we cannot go back,” Rainier told her, hands clasped into her shoulders. “I have to take you to Antiva—“

“No! We go to Val Royeaux! We must go to Leliana.”

The water under the ship swelled and swelled and swelled. Rainier grabbed Josephine to him, grabbing onto a support beam when he felt gravity give way. The ship fell. They heard screams up above, Krem roaring something at the Chargers—and then they landed. Rainier pitched to the side, sliding across the deck. He curled around Josephine to protect her when they slammed into the other side. 

“The ship won’t be able to hold out!” Josephine told him. 

More screams echoed above and then Krem was shouting again. The hatch opened and Dalish jumped down, holding onto Rocky.

“Rocky! Rock! Are you all right!”

Rocky shuddered violently, fingers clawing at the ship’s hold. “I—there are—there’s something wrong with my head! I can’t—“

“What the hell is happening out there!” Rainier demanded.

“Don’t know,” said Dalish, in her quirky voice. “Sky trying to eat us all again and something’s wrong with Rock.” She held him, looking at his eyes. “What do you feel, Rock?”

“Things are _in my head_!” he cried out. “I—I can’t see what’s here! I see—all of it. All the colors. All the—everything—it’s so goddamn _bright_ , Dalish—“

“Calm down, Rock. Deep breath. We’ll get you sorted out.”

The ship slammed into something, throwing the four of them about again. Dalish never let go of Rocky, flipping over him to protect him when they slid. Her staff went rolling by—which Rainier grabbed and threw to her. The elf shoved Rocky against the wall of the ship and gestured out wide, flipping the staff and slamming it into the ship’s hold. A barrier warped, encasing the ship in blue light.

“Good on it, Dalish!” Krem yelled above. “Tell Rainier to hold onto Rock—I need you up here to blast these fucking rocks out of the way!”

Rainier nodded, getting up and hurrying over. He grabbed Rocky. “I got him—go help them.”

Rocky groaned. Josephine scrambled up. “Dalish! The first chance we get—be it river or stream—we must go south! Forget Antiva—we must go to the Grand Cathedral in Val Royeaux!”

Dalish nodded and threw herself back up the ladder.

She kicked the hatch closed. “Rainy’s got him!” She called to Krem as she ran up the starboard bow and stood on it, blasting rock and debris with her staff. “Lady Montileyet says go south as soon as we can!”

“Keep an eye out then!” Krem yelled at the rest. 

A rock blasted fire around them as it hit the sparse forest. 

“What about the Chief!” Stitches called, climbing up fast and hot into the rigging to loose their sails.

“He can handle himself!” Krem shouted back. He hoped so, anyway. “He probably can’t wait to go hitting back at giant sky assholes again!”

Skinner laughed wildly, hair stuck to her face and whooping in the Crow’s Nest. “Tell ‘em fuck off from us, Chief!” She saluted with her knives. “We’re getting into deeper water now, Krem!”

“Loose the sails, then!” Krem shouted above. “Dalish, tell these gods to fuck themselves!”

“Show ‘em our ass end!” Stitches yelled down as he loosed the sails.

The elf sprinted along the ship’s railing, nimble as a squirrel. Dalish breathed, drawing magic to her, around her, from within her. She scooped deep into the air, pulling onto the Fade. She drew back as far as she could and then farther, deeper, harder—shaking with tension—

And then it _snapped_. Dalish was thrown back into the main mast and a mighty _blast_ of air filled their sails. They shot forward, skimming over the water like a skipped stone. The elf was on her feet again in a flash. She kept her palms out, funneling magic into the sails as they rode the water like a fury.

Grim appeared next to her, holding her in place.

In the ship behind them, with the slaves—many were cowering in terror belowdecks. Those who stayed above were either mages or former-sailors. Mihris watched Dalish and copied her. _Wind of the Ancestors_ \--she recognized it. A Dalish sailing spell. Not many Dalish did a lot of sailing. Interesting. But no time to consider it for now. Mihris roared at the mages to stand with her and she reached into the Fade to snap them forward, barreling after Krem’s ship like an arrow from a bow.

They passed burning villages, demons and mass hysteria. They passed silent fields full of corpses, manors burning in the dark, chaos as the night deepened. 

Dalish trembled but refused to quit, gritting her teeth and keeping her palms up. They passed spirits and flickering shadows. It would be nearly morning before Skinner pointed. 

“There! Dawnstone River! Flows south to the west of the Frostbacks! It’s our best option, Krem!”

“Take it!” He said immediately. He grabbed a torch to wave at the other ship, signaling to Mihris that they planned to turn. 

When Dalish released her spell, she collapsed. Grim grabbed her in his arms and leaned back against the mast to hold her. She was pale, sweating and faint. Without her blasting air like a furnace, the sails slackened and the ship slowed as they turned.

“Dawnstone River flows into the Waking Sea,” Skinner told them. “Waking Sea will take us to Orlais. We hook up with the any of the Three Sisters and they’ll take us to Val Royeaux.”

Slowing the ships allowed Mihris to get close enough to speak. “Changing course?”

“Val Royeaux,” Krem answered. “You got anyone else who knows that wind spell? Dalish needs to rest. And you checked on the dwarves? Something happened to Rock when this started. He had some kind of fit.”

“They were below when we started. I don’t know.”

“They’re sick as shit,” said Drevin, the Qunari woman from the Crimson Lantern, who came to stand next to Mihris. “Something’s going on here that didn’t last time the sky ripped open. It’s not just one of ‘em—it’s _all_ of them.”

“Fucking figures,” Krem groused. “If this is all because of that fucking elf—I swear—if Chief doesn’t gut him, I’ll do it myself.”

Stitches slid down the rigging to go to the hatch to check on Rocky.

Two human Tevinter slaves volunteered to assist in moving the ships, as well as the Dalish mages. Grim helped the mercenary, Dalish, down into the hold so she could rest. 

Rainier came up on deck. “The fuck was all that?”

“No idea. We’re going to Val Royeaux.”

“I’m supposed to get Lady Josephine to Antiva.”

Krem looked at him, barely managing not to sneer at him. “Plans have changed, Rainier. And I’ll take orders from Lady Josephine days before I’d take them from you.” 

Rainier recoiled a little. “I see….”

“You’re her bodyguard. If she has other orders, you bring them to us.”

“Before—when I was Blackwall, you trusted my judgment.”

“That was before I knew you’d let your men die and killed a bunch of kids in a carriage. Was it hard, killing some defenseless children? And then, instead of owning it, you run for years and pretend to be someone else, with the pretense of ‘not letting a good man die’. And then, when they finally catch the last guy—you know it’s either gonna be the noose or Corypheus for you so you go to Val Royeaux to die a _martyr_ for your cowardice. And what about the rest of your men they’d caught over the years? Bunch of horseshit.” Krem told him and spit at his feet. “But Chief is all right with you—and that’s whatever. I don’t care. But he ain’t here right now. If you step out of line, I’ll take your head off.”

Rainier’s eyes took in his dead-serious face, the cold eyes. And Krem wasn’t the only one. “I suppose you all…..are wondering why the Inquisitor let me live…”

“That’s the Inquisitor’s business, which ain’t none of ours. I’m sure she had her reasons for letting you live. If you want us to see those reasons—you better cooperate.”

Rainier took a deep breath. “….Val Royeaux it is, then.”

Krem eyed him until he disappeared belowdecks again. “I don’t trust him. He puts a hand on Lady Josephine or a toe out of line—I want to know.”

The other Chargers nodded. “We’ll watch him, Krem,” said Skinner, touching her knife. “I watch _shem_ cowards very closely. I get a freebie. It is nice. Keeps the knives sharp.”

“Not unless he _does_ something, Skinner,” Krem said, pointedly raising his eyebrows.

“I hope the others faired all right,” Drevin said, after a moment of quiet. She looked back in the direction of Nessum. And then up at the falling sky. “….shit, guys. Shit.”

Krem nodded in agreement.

 

 

 

_What happened?_

And then:

_Where am I?_

There was an eluvian in front of him. He reached out and touched it gently. It shimmered to his magic. He’d been braced upright, leaning against a stone slab. The room was barely big enough for the slab itself, like a closet. There were strange burn markings around the eluvian. There was nothing else to do, so he stepped through it.

 _Arlathan?_ He wondered, gazing around him. Was he still in Arlathan? He touched his clothes—it seemed magic had preserved them. He felt that much time had passed but he could not guess how much. He was still wearing his black and gold body armor too. The circular room he’d stepped into appeared to be part of a tower. Yes—one of the towers. The tapestry of his temple was still hanging by the door. 

Dirthamen reached out and touched it. It was real, wasn’t it? Yes. It was real. He hadn’t been able to walk the Fade during his sleep—something had….

_What have you done, Solas?! Why—_

_Ask me of my rage when you wake, Dirthamen._

_No! Solas—!_

Dirthamen touched his head, looking back at the eluvian. Solas—Elgar’nan’s apprentice. He’d trapped him here somehow. The ancient elf went to the door and found it opened to barely a touch. Yes, this did seem to be the House of Elders in Arlathan. But it was deserted. It was silent and dark. He slipped down the hall, trying to sense something, someone, anything really. But there was just confusion. A faint buzzing where he ought to hear music. 

The golden city of Arlathan was silent as a crypt. 

“Din?” he asked aloud. His voice sounded tinny and small, dry and hoarse from disuse. There was no answer from the walls around him. He looked at his palms. Something important had—

He found a window.

His eyes widened, mouth falling open, staring at the green light, fog, demons. He hurried down the hallway until he reached a glass door. He remembered this door. His hand fumbled at it for a second though, still clumsy, still fuzzy. He shouldered it open and staggered out onto the balcony.

There had once been stars, warm and glowing runes. The sweet smell of jasmine incense.

Now, he stared out into a strange wasteland. Was this—the deep parts of the Fade? No—he was awake. Not dreaming. Not Fade-walking. He was awake. He looked over the balcony and far below was the ground. Green stone and slurping monsters. Demons. Why demons? Why were there demons? Demons were so rare. They didn’t get corrupted from nothing! They—

His eyes caught on a hint of blue and he peered ahead of him. It was like looking into a crystal goblet. Something shattered and cracked around the edges and showing him—

Dirthamen froze. “That is….Thedas.” 

He was looking at Thedas. He was _looking at Thedas_. Arlathan should be down there. In the middle of a forest. 

But wasn’t he in Arlathan now? It looked correct…though it was black and darkness now instead of crystal and gold. There was evidence of some kind of battle but….

But now Arlathan hung in the sky of a barren wasteland in the Deep Fade? And he could _see_ the earth—through some sort of…window? It was slowly breaking apart piece by piece, crashing down to the land below. 

Had Solas really had _that_ much power? He had somehow _moved_ Arlathan into the Fade? The entire empty city? But why? That meant his Orb must be gone. He couldn’t feel it here. It could still be in his temple, perhaps.

_Ask me of my rage when you wake, Dirthamen._

The elf reached out a hand to bend the air around him to his will. It only half-worked. A rock flew up, shaped like a sculptor might work it. There was no crystal, no spires, no music. Just rock. But Dirthamen stepped out onto it anyway, kneeling. 

He was so _weak_. However long he had been in sleep….it had been far too long. He could barely keep control of the rock as it lowered to the ground. He looked up at the black city when he landed and then back at the strange window to Thedas.

Some sort of barrier had separated the two, perhaps? And now it was broken? Surely the humans could not have managed that. They didn’t have much in the way of magics. Yes, they had some witches among them—but most of them didn’t learn any magic at all until their peoples had made contact. 

Made contact...when had that been? It was after the war or during it—the one with Geldauran, Daern’thal and the others. Where were _they_? They would either have conquered them and freed the slaves or just destroyed everything. Had Solas been working with them the entire time?

Where were the others? Andruil and Sylaise and June, Elgar and Din and sweet Ghilan’nain—

Ghilan’nain….

_You know something, don’t you, child?_

_My lord?_

_What is it that you know? Tell me. Now._

He couldn’t remember what had happened to her. Or any of them, really. Just Solas and his blue eyes sparkling in rage, face a cold mask. Something…

Dirthamen took a deep breath and reached out to touch where the barrier had been. His hands tingled and burned and then he stepped through.


	30. The Temple of Elgar'nan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas/Levallan  
> \-----------
> 
> “Random?” asked the elf. “Are you sure?”
> 
> Dorian narrowed his eyes a little. “Well, do forgive me—I don’t _believe_ we’ve met.”
> 
> “We haven’t. But I wondered if a former companion of the Inquisitor might see me for what I am.”
> 
> “What are you, praytell? Besides horrendously gaudy in all that purple and gold.”

She stood on a grassy clifftop. The stone reached out like a spike, overlooking a vast ocean. It seemed painful in her chest. 

Fen’Harel was standing in front of her, back to her, looking over the water. There was something mournful in him. He felt quiet but not at peace, trembling at the edge of the brink. She approached slowly, eyes on the back of his head. His dark hair shifted in the ocean breeze.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“Solas.”

He turned, meeting her eyes. They were soft, sorrowful and everything in them felt so much like Solas that she ached. He felt it, breathing in sharply. 

They moved at the same moment, meeting halfway. Her arms wrapped tightly around him, his hand touched her hair. 

“Are you truly her? I…I can’t find you. The Veil is gone and I…” 

She felt despair well up in him like a flood. 

“Solas—is there no way to change this back?”

“It is too late,” he said, pulling back and looking down at her. “It’s too late. It’s…”

“Solas, it is never too late to try. People are dying, Solas. Everywhere. The dwarves are in so much pain.”

“They have never felt the Fade. Now they are connected to it…and what they see terrifies them.”

“Solas….we can still fix this. Please, Solas…”

His hands cupped her face, letting his thumbs wipe under her eyes. “I never…I restored many things but…but all this death and pain…I did not intend for that. I was scared for you. That you would burn.”

“This cannot be worth any vengeance you want for Mythal.”

His eyes closed and he wrapped his arms around her again. “I thought I had such wisdom and it was only pride. How typical of me. I took something and I warped it from its purpose. I am no better than the mages who killed my friend in the Exalted Plains. Perhaps Cole summed it up best: is it not more important for him to be better than for someone to continue to suffer? After he became more of a spirit, when Rainier questioned him….I agreed with him. And yet…here I make the world suffer to make myself feel better. That’s selfishness, not wisdom. It’s pride. I…you told me that the one you loved wasn’t prideful—yet, here I am. And here we are. And now the world is burning. You should despise me now.”

“Maybe I should. But I don’t. I can’t. I _know_ there’s still good in you.”

“You can’t know that.”

“You don’t know everything, Solas.”

He nosed her white hair. “I could have become a teacher instead. I could have wandered, tried to find those among the Dalish who _would_ listen. I could have found someone like Cassandra who would have taken me to those who would listen. But for my pride, I refused. I had not the patience to deal with these elves. My own prejudice for those I thought less than myself. And now, the other Evanuris are free. Where was all my knowledge and wisdom? Of everyone—I think Cassandra would be disappointed. And somehow, that’s worse than anger.” He pulled back, looking into her face. “I told you I loved you. Then I took your arm.” His hand lingered on her left sleeve, cupping the break at the elbow. “I told you I was sorry, I removed your _Valleslin_ \--not for your sake but _mine_. And then I walked away with no explanation. Had I been honest from the start I might have seen…“

“Solas. There is still time.”

“It is too late…”

“According to _who_ ,” she demanded fiercely, curling her fingers into his robe. “Who tells _you_ what your limits are, Solas! Who so commands the Wolf!”

He blinked and looked at her. 

“ _No one_ I know could command the man I knew to do something he didn’t want to. Even me. In Skyhold, in that room, you were mine—I was yours. But outside that room—you moved for _no one_. What is different now?”

Solas let their foreheads touch, hands threading into her hair. “I have done so much. I have killed so many and let so many others die.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “But…but you believe in justice too. If you know where the Evanuris are—tell me. If they are weakened by their sleep—I might be able to do something.”

“Will you come to me?” he asked quietly. “I…I know that is presumptive to ask. I know you should not trust me. But…if you could come to me. Remind me of what I’ve lost.”

“Yes,” Eckona replied instantly. “Just tell me where and I’ll come. Like I told you in Crestwood—we’ll figure it out together.”

He hesitated, looking into her eyes, her bare face, her white hair. And then he touched her temple.

The cliffside shifted, morphing into a long peninsula, to the far west of Orlais. Out on the point, was his hold. He showed it to her, built it around her. Gauzy curtains fluttered in the breeze at his window where they now stood. She was in silver and green silks, crystals in her hair. The room was full of music, sparkling light, rainbows reflected from crystals scattering around the room. 

“This is what I wanted. A place of beauty and light. I wanted to show it all to you. To have you at my side when I rebuilt what I destroyed. But it can never be. What’s lost is lost…”

“That might be, Solas. But—we can still make this right. And if not that—then at least deal with what there is now. It will be difficult and hard but I can help you.”

“You’ve become more powerful. Your magic is adapting well,” he said. “I never thought I would see you so full of light.”

“I _miss_ you,” she blurted out, finally admitting it to him. “I miss you so much. And I know that things can never be the same between us—but I still want to help you, if I can. If I can save you from yourself, I will.”

He shuddered, leaning down to her, murmuring against her cheek. “Please save me…” he kissed her.

She grabbed onto him, kissing back, all the intensity in her rising to meet him. “I will,” she told him desperately, kissing him harder, pulling him down to her. “I will, I swear I will.” 

His hands went to her hips, her favorite place to feel them. His fingers digging into the silks he’d put her in. And then traveling up roughly, mussing the delicate fabric, shoving it inbetween his fingers as he pulled her up against him. His hands coiled into the small of her back and turning her to press against the window sill, breathing her in. Her magic’s scent still smelled like moss, green and fertile and soft, stubborn and quick and—

He wrapped an arm around her waist and lifted her, taking the quick strides to the bed, laying her down. His fingers wove in with her right hand and she used it as leverage to lean up to him. Their mouths met again and it was just as full and sweet as the first time in Haven. He urged her back and she let him, his other hand sliding to the sash at her waist. He untied it, letting the silk fall. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in silks.”

She smiled a little at him. “Silk always feels so rough to me.”

“That’s because you work hard.” He parted her robes. He felt her keen, felt her _longing_ , felt how much she _wanted_ his touch. He obliged. 

Her spine arched against his bed and she lifted her right hand and carded it into his hair. “It’s so soft…your hair,” she murmured. “I always wanted to…to touch it when you said you’d grow it out.”

“You cut yours,” he observed a bit sadly and then smiled. “Did you let Sera do it? It looks awful.”

Eckona laughed. For the first time in a very long time, it felt light, like she had no worries at all. She felt so familiar and so warm and soft. The curve of her hip, the roundness of her thighs. Soft in those places where only trusted hands could tread. Other hands only saw the hard parts of her—the muscle in her abdomen, the strength in her legs, the grace of her movements and accuracy of her knives and her spellcasting. Her right arm, strong and solid and the left…when she used it—spectral and glowing. 

But his hands had seen every inch of her, she’d felt the burn of him inside and out. And still, she wanted him. Still, he could feel her need, the heat in her core. The anger he’d felt in her before was duller, not so sharp. Now, she would expect betrayal. He knew that, another fracture in her spirit. Her naïve kindness when he’d met her had changed so much. It was necessary but still. He’d changed her. And she had changed him. 

He had thought he would feel exuberant when the Veil was down. Victory would finally be his. Triumph when all else had faded. It was all too easy to play the knowledgeable, aloof apostate. It was a character he knew well. One he’d played a long time, Before. 

Before the Wolf.

But when the last pieces fell and he felt the world become whole again, spirits drifting into the physical world. No longer were spirits torn through—so no more demons. Just the ones that remained to be put down. There was…none of the quiet he’d expected. Just sadness and despair.

His fingers dug into her hips. He kissed her, breathing her in. Her hand slid down to his robe, opening it, pulling the ties. He shuddered, tore the silks off of her, forcing her spine to arch and kissing her breastbone. He heard her breath a soft moan and he _felt_ how much she’d missed him. His eyes became hot, fuzzy and he kissed at a nipple. The crystals fell out of her hair, silks he’d wrapped her in thrown away. She leaned up, cursing and activating her left hand to pull his robe off. He helped her, fighting free of it and then sliding a large palm over her throat, cupping it and then gliding down her breast to her abdomen, inbetween to the need between her thighs. She gasped and his magic flared and spiked. She was already so _wet_.

He’d barely touched her and her _need_ was consuming her. It filled his eyes and nose and mouth, consuming him with raw and burning _desire_. He felt her fingers curl into his hair, pulling him closer. The prickles of pain felt incredible. Her knee came up tight against his side and he thrust into her in one long, fluid stroke.

He felt her cry out, writhe, wanting so badly she could hardly stand it. He drew back, slowly and then thrust back in, hard and full and deep and she didn’t—or maybe couldn’t—keep her voice from him, a wanton moan filling up his ears. He curled a hand under her thigh, thrusting deliberate, hard, deep. Pulling out almost entirely, only to seat himself inside of her. He felt how her body fluttered, clutched at him, dragging against him, slick and hot. He bowed his head against her shoulder and her right hand cupped the back of his head as her hips jerked, moving to meet him. His pace burned into her, consuming, raw, claiming her as he hilted into the center of her pleasure—and she burst, shattering apart, clenching down on him. A long, satisfied moan trembled out of him when he followed, filling her with heat. 

Her eyes were still dazed and glassy, staring up at him, touching the side of his face gently. “ _Vhenan._ ”

He felt everything in him tense, staring at her and then grabbing her to him, burying his eyes in her shoulder. 

 

 

When his eyes opened, he was alone. Fen’Harel sat up, frowning faintly as he got to his feet to go to the window. Behind him, he heard a whisper of movement as a door opened. 

“My lord,” Minaeve said quietly, timidly.

He stared out the window, swallowing hard around the tightness in his throat. “It is done.”

“She will come here, my lord?”

“Yes. I am certain of it.” He sighed silently and when he turned, his face was a mask. “It seems your idea was a good one, Minaeve.”

She hesitated before saying, “…are you…all right, my lord?”

“Of course,” he said, dismissive. “Have a watch set up for when she approaches.”

 

 

Cullen had followed the Tevinter mages after they’d defeated the demon, running through the chaotic streets of Nessum until the mages had disappeared into a Chantry building. Cullen held the door, counting heads. Tam, Anock, Bull and Dorian—the mage was still only half-conscious but he was stirring, at least. Tam had stopped the bleeding on the side of his head.

The sound was muted inside the quiet Chantry, which, for some reason—felt oddly similar to one of their southern Chantries. It surprised him, given how Tevinter had twisted the Chant of Light but…it was still a Chantry, at the end. The small group of mages were very well-dressed. One who seemed to be in charge turned around to face them.

“We helped you, you helped one of us,” he said, nodding to Dorian. “We can take him from here.”

“Not a goddamn chance,” Iron Bull informed them, turning to the side as Anock slipped forward to cast a healing spell on Dorian.

The mages stiffened. “Do you know who that is?” asked one of them, narrowing her eyes. “The Heir of house Pavus. He is an Altus. And he can use time magic. We need him.”

“This is the first I’ve heard of anyone needing him,” Cullen said dryly.

“Why you saved him is not the primary concern—hand him over. We need him.”

“For what, exactly?” Tam asked.

“Our magister needs him. We have been searching for him for two years—but he has always slipped through our fingers. You mercenaries have no reason to keep him. He’s useless to you.”

Cullen raised his hands as if they were scales, looking at Iron Bull, who laughed. 

“Who’s your magister?” Tam asked.

“Magister Osesh, our Sun Priest. Pavus’ time magic could help reverse all of this.”

“I wouldn’t go fucking around with wildly unstable time magic. We’ve already seen what that can do,” Iron Bull snorted, pointing up to indicate the falling Veil.

“You’re mercenaries. The magister will pay you for him.”

Cullen exchanged a look with Tam and Bull. “How much?”

“His weight in gold, I imagine.”

“Then we take him to this magister ourselves.”

The mages looked at each other. Finally, one said, “All right. Come on. Hurry!”

There was a massive _boom_ as something struck the Chantry tower. 

“You’re not actually gonna sell him, right?” Tam murmured to them.

Cullen chuckled. “As funny as that would be—no. But if they’re going somewhere safe, we can deal with this Magister—“

Cullen stopped cold.

The Tevinter mages had led them into a store room. In it, was an eluvian. 

“Don’t be scared, southerner,” one of the mages said. “It’s an eluvian. Elven artifact. Step through. Come on.”

“I can’t believe we just happened on Pavus,” said one of the other mages. “He won’t believe it.”

“Let’s hurry,” said one of the women, “he’s been right about everything else. Even the Veil.” 

Dorian stirred again in the Bull’s arms. He shuddered. “Em…Em?” His grey eyes opened, alert and wide.

“No, it’s just me,” Bull told him in a whisper. “Keep still. These mage Vints think you’re unconscious.”

They went through the eluvian.

It took them….well, _somewhere_.

It seemed to be a temple, swathed in paintings of the sun, of a red dawn. Tam’s eyes were drawn immediately to one painting in particular. “Anock…” she whispered, nodding towards it.

The Keeper looked. It was a ghostly, dark shadow figure, haunting the edge of one painting. It bled into the one next to it, growing into a thunderhead of darkness. In the middle of the painting, it was red and gold. An elf was sitting on a large throne, emblazoned by the sun. 

“This is an elven temple,” Tam said out loud. 

The Tevinter mages looked at her. “Yes, to Elgar’nan.”

“How did you find this place?” Anock asked. “The Dalish have never found it in any records.”

“The Dalish don’t know shit about their own gods,” said a mage. “Now, come on.”

The walls were lavished with mosaics, studded in rubies and diamonds, gold and garnets. Paintings of battles were here. Anock was practically tripping over his own feet, enthralled by the walls, the stories. One wall, he was _certain_ , displayed the war with the Forgotten Ones. Another captured Andruil bringing Ghilan’nain to the other gods. The Guide was the one thing not red or gold or dark. She had been painstakingly recreated in a gown of green emeralds and silver, her white hair was made of seashells and opals. She….

Anock stopped, tilting his head at it. “Wow…maybe it’s just the white hair, but she looks a lot like—“

“The Inquisitor!” snapped a Tevinter mage impatiently. “We know. And like the Inquisitor, she was betrayed by Fen’Harel. Come on—which mercenaries are you all with?”

“The Bold Dancers,” Cullen said, also staring at the mosaic. It….it _was_ rather uncanny.

“Why are you letting us see all this?” Tam asked.

“The truth will come to the masses soon enough. It hardly matters if some mercenaries see it first.”

They hurried through the temple, reaching an inner sanctum.

 

The hall was massive, lofted ceilings and tinted glass throwing a menagerie of beautiful color around them. Off to one side, seated at a desk, there was a man. He was reading. The Tevinter mages were silent when they entered this room. The only thing Cullen heard was the whisper of paper when this man turned the page.

“My lord,” one of the mages stepped forward. “We found Pavus.”

The man looked over at them. His eyes were amber-gold, like his hair. His ears, like Solas’, were turned flatter, rather than pointing up but they were equally as long and delicate at the tips. 

He stood up, dressed in robes of gold and purple brocade. He looked over Cullen and the others, eyes finally resting on Dorian. “Is the Veil broken?”

“Yes, my lord.”

He reached out a palm and flexed his fingers. Dorian started to lift—Bull grabbed him tight. “What are you doing!”

The man waved a hand at them. “Who are these people?”

“Mercenaries, my lord. They happened to be in the city. They saved Pavus from a demon and protected him. We told them you’d pay for him.”

“Did you believe that?” asked the man.

“Not particularly. But we were a little low on options at the time. Nessum was destroyed. There were demons everywhere,” Cullen said carefully.

The man walked up to them. “Give Pavus to me and I will allow you to leave, unharmed.”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Dorian said, unable to keep silent any longer and shifting to get down to his feet. “I’m not in the habit of simply _giving_ myself to random men.”

Iron Bull snorted into his fist.

“Random?” asked the elf. “Are you sure?”

Dorian narrowed his eyes a little. “Well, do forgive me—I don’t _believe_ we’ve met.”

“We haven’t. But I wondered if a former companion of the Inquisitor might see me for what I am.”

“What are you, praytell? Besides horrendously gaudy in all that purple and gold.”

“I am called Elgar’nan. I’m sure you can imagine the rest.”

The smile fell off Dorian’s face. “Elgar’nan….”

“I believe you’ve been acquainted with my apprentice, Solas. Or, as he fancies himself, the Dread Wolf.” 

Dorian looked at the others, then back at the Evanuris.

“Oh yes, I’m sure you realize the situation you’re in now, Dorian Pavus. I only require you—but I will take the others if you cause a fuss.”

Dorian shifted. “Why do you need me? I’m not an elf.”

“Time magic,” Elgar’nan said simply. “Show it to me.”

Dorian’s eyes darkened. “For what purpose?”

“For what I will do to you if you don’t.”

Dorian exchanged a look with Cullen, who nodded.

Dorian stepped away from the others and dipped into the magic around him, winding it and pulling it and stretching it like taffy. The fabric of the world bending to his fingers and then bubbling out. Pieces of the fabric, of time, hung in the air like shards of a mirror. He and Elgar’nan were absorbed inside of it, the mirrors reflecting their faces—

As Cullen moved, dashing at the mages and swinging his sword. In a shining arc, heads rolled. Tam jumped back, whirling with her staff to back him up. Iron Bull charged at Elgar’nan, heaving his axe and sweeping down with it.

Until it locked in mid-air. Until Tam froze mid-cast. Until Cullen stood like he’d been turned to stone, sword deep inside the last Tevinter mage.

The time magic dispelled and Dorian started in surprise at his frozen friends. “What the—!” And then he felt his limbs lock up, paralyzed.

Elgar’nan smiled up at Iron Bull. “I see the rest of you are acquainted with Solas as well. His betrayal has hit you all deeply.” The elf drew a beautiful curved sword.

“No!” Dorian cried out but he was also locked, paralyzed, watching helplessly as Elgar’nan studied Iron Bull. “Please don’t! Take me. I will stay! Let them go! They thought only to protect me. They are my friends. Sometimes they’re stupid. Let them go. I will stay.”

“Shut the fuck up, Dorian,” Iron Bull grunted.

Elgar’nan didn’t seem fazed. He glanced over, amber eyes settling on Anock. “Except for you. You wear the robes of a Keeper of the Dalish. You did not move to aid your friends. Why is that?”

Anock trembled, looking around at other four, frozen in place like statues. “I…I…” and then closed his eyes. “I am a coward.”

“We all must face our demons, Keeper,” said Elgar’nan, gliding around Dorian to approach the Keeper. “Are you a snake, Keeper? Did you betray them?”

“No!” Anock cried out. “I swear, I didn’t! I didn’t betray anyone! I…I have been trying to do better—to _be_ better.”

“Then you’re already ahead of Fen’Harel, I suppose. Still. No one trusts a coward.”

“Anock!” Tam choked out. “Anock—run—!“

Elgar’nan touched the Keeper’s face and all the expression emptied out of him. His eyes were muddled, dark. The Keeper’s knees hit the floor, face slack and empty.

Cullen shook, staring. “You—you—you made him…you made him…”

“Tranquil. You made him Tranquil!” Dorian cried out, horrified. “How could you _do_ that! He’s one of _you_!”

Anock’s head rolled forward and then back. He stared around at them, empty.

“His cowardice will no longer plague him,” Elgar’nan told them.

“Holy shit,” Bull said softly.

“You son of a bitch!” Tam screamed at him. “You fucking son of a bitch! He was changing! He was learning! He—he could have—he was learning how to be a real leader! Yes, he was afraid but he didn’t—he didn’t deserve _that_!“ She was shaking, fighting against her bonds. “I’ll fucking kill you!”

“Now, here is a fierce heart,” said Elgar’nan, turning to look at the red-headed elf. 

“Don’t!” Cullen shouted. “Don’t—!”

He touched Tam’s face.

“NO!” Cullen snarled. “NO! Stop it!”

She bit his hand but the damage was done. Her mouth slackened, her eyes emptied out. Her whole body relaxed and she fell to her knees. 

“Stop it!” Dorian demanded. “Stop it! I said I would stay! Let them leave!”

“For them to bring others back? I should think not. Do not worry, Dorian. They won’t be harmed.”

“They aren’t—no! Stop! What do you _want_!?”

Elgar’nan approached Cullen.

“Whatever it is, I will get it! STOP!”

Cullen snarled at the elf, fighting, trying to free his sword hand as Elgar’nan’s fingers touched his face. 

Dorian reached into the Fade, barreling himself into the elf. Then everything turned inside out and Dorian found himself slamming up against a pillar. Pain burned through him, forcing him to his knees. He heard Iron Bull yell something but the elf bound him in place with a thought.

Elgar’nan turned back to Cullen and the Iron Bull. “Now. Do not worry. The girl—she will be a vessel for Andruil. A few of us escaped to take avatars in the world, as Mythal did. As I did. Andruil was lost. I found her. And I sealed her until I could find a suitable host. Dirthamen is still trapped in Arlathan—I have heard you mortals call it the Black City in the fade. So much history has been twisted for your religious order. The Maker? Do you realize who he is?”

Cullen and Dorian and Iron Bull stared at him. 

“The Black City is Arlathan,” Dorian said softly, stunned.

“Oh yes. Gleaming gold before my apprentice moved it—it only turned black after I attempted to have the city retaken.”

“Corypheus…” Cullen said.

“Solas was still there at the time, watching over our imprisonments. He couldn’t keep us all in one place—too much power. But there were eluvians that went to each of us. That’s how Corypheus learned of them. Of course, I expended so much power to get the magisters to _go_ there—I couldn’t control them when Solas turned them into monsters and sent them back through the Veil.”

Cullen looked down, reeling. “No….no…the Maker. The Maker is…Solas was the Maker?”

“You know, at the time, I think Solas thought going through the Veil would kill them. He didn’t know enough about the magic he’d created and so darkspawn were born.” He smiled. “So, no, there is no Maker. It was just Solas. You humans come up with all sorts of interesting ways to explain events you can’t understand.” He peered at Cullen. “I see the idea disturbs you. Let me free you from your pain.”

Cullen’s eyes went wide. “N-no—no—“

“Did you see enough of it at the Circle, former Templar Knight-Captain Rutherford?”

“Cullen! Cullen, look at me!” Dorian yelled at him. 

“Yes, look at your friend if it will comfort you.” Elgar’nan touched him.

Dorian watched in horror as Cullen’s face went oatmeal grey. All the fire left his eyes. He fell to his knees, sword clattering to the ground.

Iron Bull, still locked in place, looked at Dorian and then at Elgar’nan. “Suppose I’m next, then?”

“Very astute,” Elgar’nan smirked.

“So you’re just an avatar too, right? Like Mythal. You can be killed.”

“I can’t be killed.”

Iron Bull smirked into his face. “ _Anyone_ can be killed.”

Elgar’nan snorted. “What would a savage like you know of powers far beyond your comprehension?”

Dorian flared over at the pillar, fighting to free himself, twisting everything around him. The Fade, time, fabric of the universe, savagely ripping into his own skin. His magic burned against Elgar’nan’s, blistering his flesh. “Iron Bull! Bull!” He called over. “I—I—“

“Shut up, Dorian,” said Iron Bull, staring into Elgar’nan’s face. 

The elf reached up and touched his face.

Dorian shouted in rage, everything around him warping as he saw everything empty out of Iron Bull’s face. The huge man fell to his knees, his massive axe slamming into the floor. Dorian’s vision went grey and then _red_. He grabbed into his time magic and honed it to a point, ripping into Elgar’nan’s hold. A small rift bubbled and flamed—Dorian leapt up, summoning Tam’s staff to himself. Bracing his feet to burst forward, fade-stepping, launching himself across the room.

The elf followed but only with his eyes.

Dorian flipped, gathering momentum, the Fade, energy, all around him, dashing past again and creating another small time rift. 

The elf drew his sword. “You know I need you, Dorian. But I don’t need _all_ of you. If you lose a limb, you’ve no one to blame but yourself.”

_Blame but yourself._

It echoed from one of the rifts.

“Fascinating,” Elgar’nan said, brightening. 

_Fascinating._ The rift echoed it back, whirling in purple light.

The elf watched Dorian move again, the mage was _simmering_ in anger. It was amusing, interesting, at least. And he was fascinated to see what the mage would do. Humans had certainly come a long way. Though, of course, Tevinter had stolen much from the elves. He watched Dorian dispel the extra magic around him, keeping tight control as he fade-stepped _through_ him. A burning cold sensation sparked through Elgar’nan. He smiled. “You have my curiosity, Tevinter. After all, I wanted to see time magic.”

He could _feel_ how that enraged Dorian. How the mage was burning with hatred so dark that it was practically rolling off of him in waves. The mage appeared on his far right. Another small rift. There were five of them now and—

Oh.

That was interesting.

Elgar’nan looked down at his robes. There was a sword sticking out of them. “Fascinating,” he said again, turning. Dorian had appeared behind him—but how? How had—

“Oh, of course—when you went through me—you created another rift? There are actually six. Not five. Correct?”

“Shall I tell you what you’ve won?”

“You may try.” Elgar’nan wrenched his fist to the side.

Dorian was blasted back, the elf’s sword still in his fist—and then he was slammed into the marble. Dorian grunted, tried to push himself up. Tendrils of magic wrapped around his legs. He scrambled back, kicking—but the tendrils only tightened. His left leg straightened out like a rod. His right _twisted_ sharply. Dorian felt it _crack_ , pain blinding him. The bone ground down against itself, shattering. The sword fell from Dorian’s fist. 

“I look forward to learning more,” Elgar’nan told him. He ignored the hole in his chest, seemingly unaffected by it, save for the blood drenching the gold and purple brocade.

The golden leader of the Evanuris walked over to Tam. “Now, be a good mage, my dear. Stand up.”

She did: silent, eyes vacant.

Elgar’nan curled his fingers into the back of her head, forcing her eyes up to his. He reached into his robes and then paused. He shifted, searching. 

Nothing.

He whirled around, throwing Tam into the floor. 

Dorian lay across the stone.

“Where is it, mage?”

“You mean this?” He held up a small pyramid-shaped vial. It was blue and sparkling. “This sealed vial must have something important in it. Like the spirit of a long dead elven goddess, perhaps?”

“I’d forgotten how crafty you humans can be.”

“You’ll find we’re full of surprises.”

“If you open that vial—the spirit of Andruil will kill you. You’ll be useless to your friends.” He gestured to the four Tranquil.

Dorian’s neck was slick with sweat. “Clearly, I already am useless to them.”

He surrounded the vial in a warp of time magic.

Elgar’nan’s eyes flickered. “Don’t, mage. Or the pain I will visit upon you—“

Dorian dashed his hands. The warp ripped the vial apart. The spirit inside shrieked, free of the bottle but not the bubble of magic. “One of your friends? Andruil, you said? Dear me, wouldn’t it be terrible if I ripped her essence to shreds? Are you keeping any of your other friends in vials around here?”

Elgar’nan snapped his left leg, crushing it. He watched the Tevinter mage go ash-pale, struggling to stay conscious. “You humans. So short-sighted. You’re all the same.” He advanced on the mage.

Dorian put his palm on the orb of magic trapping the spirit. “So tell me,” he said, laughing wildly, “do you talk to the vials? Is it dull? Like, oh good morning June—did you know we pissed off Solas so much that he removed our greatest city from the world and trapped us all over. What do you suppose we did? Did you mix up the laundry again? He’s so particular about his white shirts.”

Elgar’nan snarled. His will grabbed into the mage, dragging him across the floor, lifting him up above him. Dorian’s crushed legs swung uselessly below. Elgar’nan pressed inward, inward, inward. Crushing the mage’s throat, cutting off his air, making blood stream out his nose and sweat and bile from his mouth, foaming and—

And then Cassandra kicked the door in.


	31. The Guide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Music for the inside of Cole's Head: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BDMmj5WgB8c
> 
> \-------  
> “I never noticed,” he said softly to the sky. “I never noticed it.”
> 
> “What?” Victor asked him.
> 
> “How _warm_ they are.” He looked over at Victor. “Sera, I mean. And Eckona. And you.”
> 
> Victor blinked. “Oh. Uh. Well, you know, kid—we’re alive and stuff.”
> 
> “Yes….Nug is warm and her babies were warm. I knew that. But I didn’t know that _they_ were warm.”
> 
> \---
> 
>  
> 
> Okay. Finally starting to really pull some things together. These events and predictions and such--obviously not canon or anything. It's just some theories I thought of one day.

Cole rocked back and forth a little, watching Sera and Eckona as they slept. He wandered often, not needing to sleep. He wandered their dreams, the memories of other spirits, examined Victor, who was sleeping in the room next door. And then he returned to them, watching the two elves. 

The music in Nessum kept drifting back to him, something in it had felt so odd. 

Odd.

As odd as when they fell through the city square and he’d had that flash of understanding. To choose to manifest the will to save them would probably shift him back, away from being mostly a spirit. And he’d done it—not simply out of compassion but for _them_. For _Solas_. He felt so many reverberations of pain, loss, fear. He still felt it from Eckona, as much as she tried to hide it. Solas was different. Solas was…more confusing. More….sharp. 

But what he’d told Eckona had been true. He wanted to _be_ where he was wanted. The world was full of too much pain to do otherwise. 

Cole reached out, gently touching Sera’s shoulder, still uncertain about the strangeness he felt. She was warm. Had he ever noticed that before? Her thoughts could be warm and soft and sad—but he hadn’t thought about _her_ being warm. 

He pulled his hand away and got up, walking out into the courtyard of the dilapidated chateau. The sky was terrifying. And also incredibly beautiful. He wasn’t sure how long he watched it churn until he felt Victor approaching. 

The Tevinter assassin stopped beside him. “Are you all right, boy?” he asked, hooking his thumbs in his belt loops.

Cole looked thoughtfully at the breaking sky—nearly finished. It was nearly finished. “I never noticed,” he said softly to the sky. “I never noticed it.”

“What?” Victor asked him.

“How _warm_ they are.” He looked over at Victor. “Sera, I mean. And Eckona. And you.”

Victor blinked. “Oh. Uh. Well, you know, kid—we’re alive and stuff.”

“Yes….Nug is warm and her babies were warm. I knew that. But I didn’t know that _they_ were warm.”

“Huh,” said Victor and he scratched his beard. “What will you do now that you know?” 

Cole looked down at the grass. “I don’t know.”

There was a cracking sound above them, like a lightning strike. “It’s finished,” Cole said to the grass.

Above them, the sky turned liquid gold and green, silver and blues. It was everything and nothing. Impossibility and legacy and fantasy, endless parallels to read with endless time to read them. The misery of unending death and pain and war. Like a cut on Dorian’s lip that he couldn’t leave alone. 

Spirits were with them, curious and confused—but not demons. They presented, not as sunset fire wisps but as mostly humanoid forms, struggling in this strange duality of worlds. None had taken a form before but Cole felt them examining him—thoughts flooding his mind, feeling their confusion and uncertainty. 

_What are you? What are you? What are you? Where is the Wall? Where is the lace? Where is home? Where are the dreams? Don’t understand, don’t understand, help. Help. Helphelphelphelphelp._

“It’s all right,” Cole said aloud. “Follow my voice.”

One of the spirits shimmered into a semi-corporeal form. It presented male, looking at his transparent hands with a sort of Deep Quiet as it examined everything it knew about the Home and the Real.

“What happened?” asked the spirit, quietly.

“Someone took the mist away,” Cole told him. 

“Why would they do that?” 

“Someone wanted us to make friends here.”

“What if….I don’t want to?” asked the spirit.

“Then you can leave—you have to go to the Deep Fade.”

“Thank you,” said the spirit and then it swept apart like golden dust.

Victor stared, slack-jawed. “What happened?”

“He went to the Deep Fade.”

“What is the Deep Fade?”

“It’s where….” Cole looked thoughtful again. “It’s where the energy around us comes from. It’s…me and them and everything that you cannot see or touch. He will go to the Deep Fade and return.”

“Return to….spirit energy?” Victor asked.

“Yes…it will return to it and be….born again some day.”

“Literally? It…..dies?” asked Victor.

“In a way but…it’s a spirit so…it’s different. For us. Well, for them.”

“Them?”

“I…chose to become more real and…so…I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to go back to the Deep Fade. It’s not a place for people.”

“So would you just….live on here?”

“I suppose so,” Cole answered, still looking up into the sky.

Victor felt a pang of loneliness for the boy. _So he could have chosen peace in the Deep Fade but instead he wanted to save us. He wanted to save us so much that he might cut himself off from the Deep Fade. He might never be able to go home._

“It’s all right,” Cole said to the stars. “I like being here. I’m _wanted_ here.”

Victor looked down and then said, “I….guess I never considered that the spirits might be just as confused as we all are.”

“They don’t understand but it doesn’t hurt them with the Veil gone. They are confused. They must either adapt or return to the Deep Fade.” And then he tilted his head, “Loneliness, so alone, everything was so alone for years and years, poor, enslaved, the biting manacles of iron that poisoned papa’s blood. The iron of the men who beat mama and forced their way inside of her as she screamed. Running, I’m running and trying—mama I’m scared, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I failed everything. I kill and I _like_ it. I don’t want to but I can’t _feel_ anything else.”

Cole looked over at Victor.

Victor stared at him, pale and suddenly breaking out in a cold sweat.

“You _can_ feel,” Cole told him. “You have to let the wall down.” He watched Victor’s eyes frantically jump over him, scattered, skittering, surprised. 

And then Victor smoothed his hands over his belt. He paused a moment and opened his mouth to speak but then he closed it. He walked away, a little unsteady.

 

 

Cole stood outside until he felt an intense wave of _fear_. Fear and shame. Shame and fear and guilt. Shame and fear and wild, desperate _hope_. He followed it back and found Eckona sitting up on the floor. She was holding a hand to her chest, breathing hard and fast.

 _Solas, it was Solas. It was really Solas. I think he meant it. Please have meant it, Solas. How can I save you? I will. I will. I’ll go to the West. The West. The West. The West._

She was scrambling up, staggering to her clothes. She grabbed into the loose shirt she’d gathered from the dresser to wear while they had washed all their clothes and armor. She pulled it off over her head.

It wasn’t her skin, really. It was clothes. Clothes. Cole reached up, gently touching his own shirt. Right. Her skin was underneath. He tilted his head, looking at her back, her waist, her thighs. How strange. He’d never noticed them before. 

She pulled on her shirt, turning around to couple the buttons. “Cole!” She jumped a little. “Sorry, I wasn’t—I wasn’t paying attention.”

He looked curiously at her breasts. He’d never noticed them before either. He looked down at Sera. 

“Cole….?” She said softly, as she hooked the last button. “Are you….okay?”

Cole looked back at Eckona. “I….I think so.”

She peered at him intently. He felt the surge of protectiveness in her, bristling at imaginary ones who would harm him. 

“You had a dream,” he said to her. 

“Yes—“ And that seemed to get the wagon wheels going again. She circled around to the bookcases, pulling down the makeshift line they’d strung for their gear. She pulled down her breeches and shoved the borrowed ones off, swiftly pulling on the soft doe-skin and tying the leather throngs. “It was really him, I’m sure of it. He begged me to come help him—to come save him. He’s overwhelmed and distraught and he needs help. I have to go. He showed me where.” Her dashing about made Sera stir over on the bed. 

The other elf sat up. “What’s wrong with you?”

“We have to go—or, I have to go. I won’t make you come. I know the look you’re about to give me.”

“Oh no,” Sera scowled. “Is this about Solas? Again? What now?”

“He showed me where he is!” Eckona snapped tersely. “I have to go. He needs help. He asked me to come save him.”

“Come save him. Right. And you believe that?”

“I don’t know—but I can’t risk not going if it’s true.”

“This is definitely a trap,” Sera said, getting up to change clothes. “He’s playing you like a lute. And you’re falling for it. Again.”

“I _can’t_ leave this to chance, Sera!”

Cole watched as Sera pulled off her clothes, far less ashamed of nakedness than most. Her skin was warmer than Eckona’s, sunbrowned but—like Eckona’s—covered in scars. Copypheus’ dragon, he remembered, had scorched her back. The skin had blistered and burst in puss and blood, sticking to the inside of her armor. Dorian had healed her as best he could during the fight—enough to seal it and stop the pain for the moment. But patches of old scarring remained, some red, some faded and white--it had made a terrible sound when they'd pulled it away from her skin. Cassandra was covered in similar scars. He’d seen them when she had felt such intense _fear_ one cool night, letting Arlath step closer to her and feeling his fingers touch her jaw. He reached up, touching his own jaw curiously. How did that feel?

“Creepy!”

Cole started a little, straightening up. “Yes?”

Sera stared at him. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Sera—“ Eckona started.

“No, he’s acting _weirder_ than usual!”

“We can discuss it on the road.” She grabbed her mail body armor, pulling it on and tightening the straps one at a time. “Victor!” She called as she shoved her boots on. 

“You know, this place is pretty comfortable. Good to defend. We don’t _have_ to go anywhere,” Sera groused.

“Then stay here,” Eckona snapped. 

“Shit, are you serious? You’re _really_ gonna go? It’s a fucking trap! It _has_ to be! He _knows_ you.”

“I don’t care.”

“Eck, you haven’t seen him in person in forever. He knows so much more about the Fade and Dreaming than you do.”

“I know.”

Sera threw her arms up. “Well!”

“If it’s true—then I would never forgive myself. And this might be my only chance to actually _find_ him to stop him.”

Sera groaned. “Eck! You’re an idiot.” She swore and got up to pull her body armor on.

“You don’t have to come,” Eckona repeated.

“Phht, and then what? Tell the others I pissed out like a bitch?”

Victor knocked and then opened the door. “Ladies—I heard you call for me.” He saw them both strapping on their gear. “Are we leaving?”

“Yes—you don’t have to come—but I had a dream about Solas. I know where he is. I have to go.”

“This might be the only way we find out if Dorian and the others are still alive,” Victor said quietly and then walked away to go get his gear.

 

 

 

Outside was like venturing into a strange dream. The Emerald Graves were still full of trees and sunlight…but the trees moved. The sun changed colors. Spirits lingered around them, reflecting them like Cole sometimes did out loud. 

“This is….really unnerving,” Victor said, staring. “I mean, everything hurts. My eyes and the colors are weird and just—nothing feels right.”

“There is so much death, even here,” Cole said quietly. “It used to make the Veil thin, drawing spirits to the intense emotions. But now, there’s no need to cluster. It’s everywhere. They’re slow now. Confused still. But soon, they will understand and they will…try to reclaim the dead.”

Eckona started, almost tripping over her feet. “Uh. What.”

“Some of them won’t want to go back to the Deep Fade _or_ become more real. They will take the dead. Or turn into demons. Or possess things, animals, children. The dwarves will be first….” Cole stopped walking, a terrible sadness creeping into his eyes. “…..they have no way to protect themselves. They have always been immune. It will reflect their terror. I don’t want to see the sun! I don’t—I can’t, it’s too bright! Stop! Stop, please—my eyes are burning! Everything is burning! I’m burning—I’m burning!”

“Cole!” Eckona grabbed onto him. 

“Everyone is _dying_! Maker, help me! Quietquietquiet! I have to _see_ it. I have to see it! Show me your god! My head—I’m wrong. I’m all wrong!” He cried out. “In my—it’s—I can’t—Varric! Varric?”

Sera exchanged a stricken look with Eckona. 

Victor stared at the three of them. “Uh, is he okay?”

“No, you pissbucket,” Sera snapped. “Creepy, wake up!”

“Cole?” Eckona asked, looking under the wide brim of his hat. His eyes were so blue and empty. She’d never seen him like this before. “Cole…..?” She touched his arms.

He blinked, eyes moving back down to her face. He peered at her, making the back of her neck prickle uneasily. “It’s inside now,” he said softly.

 _He’s come to kill you,_ flashed through her mind. The same strange tone. The same sense of dread had filled her.

“Creepy! Stop it!”

“What’s inside, Cole?”

Cole’s eye burrowed into hers. “Nothing is inside Cole. He is dead.”

Eckona nodded for Sera to step back and she reached up to touch Cole’s temple, smoothing his wild hair out of the way so she could see his eyes. “Are you remembering the other Cole?”

“Yes,” he said and looked puzzled, as if he’d just realized himself. “But he is dead and I’m not. But I am him. Unless I’m keeping him silent.”

“You’re not possessing anything, Cole. Remember?”

He blinked like she’d startled him and he met her eyes. “I’m…I’m still me.”

“Yes, Cole. You are real.” She pressed her hand up against his chest. “You feel that, right?”

He nodded, looking down at her fingers next to the faintly glowing amulet, back in its little pocket of his body armor. Body armor. Yes. He was in armor. Because he had a real body now. He reached up with both hands, eyes lifting to stare at Eckona. He tilted his head to the side as he sunk his fingers into her hair.

She froze, stiffening up beneath his hands.

Victor tensed, touching one of his dirks. 

“Creepy,” Sera said loudly, an undercurrent of warning in her tone as she circled the two of them.

Cole drug his fingers through Eckona’s hair, too hard at first and then gentling when he saw her wince. He did not pull her hair and he seemed to quickly discover the tangles, working around them. He lifted his fingers out and did it again, staring at her white hair. Eckona exchanged an alarmed, confused look with Sera but did not move, letting Cole run his fingers through her hair.

“What the hell is going on?” Victor asked, quietly.

“I dunno,” Sera grunted. “He’s never done something like this before.”

Cole stared down at her hair and then met her eyes. “I don’t understand.”

“Don’t understand…what, Cole?”

“Sera,” Cole said quietly, looking over at her. 

Sera looked at Eckona and then slowly walked over. Cole repeated the action, grabbing onto Sera’s head like a squid and running his fingers through her hair. Too hard, at first, then gentling at her expression. He still seemed confused. “I don’t understand.”

“We don’t either, Creepy. What is—“

“Oh!” Eckona exclaimed suddenly. “I get it! Cole. Sit down.”

He sat down on the boulder she indicated.

“Stay still, okay, Cole?” She gently lifted off his hat and gave it to Sera. 

“What does he want?” Sera asked.

“Shut up for a second,” Eckona told her and then stood in front of Cole. She showed him her fingers and then, very gently, ran them up into _his_ hair.

Cole tensed under her hands. His shoulders stiffened and he nearly ducked down from her fingers. She stilled until he relaxed, sitting up a little straighter. His sky-blue eyes stared up at her, curiously. She ran her fingers into his blond hair, gently running her nails along his scalp. Softly, warmly, loosening tangles and smoothing his hair back from his eyes. The curious look in them faded and he closed them.

She combed her fingers through his hair until she felt the tension in him ease. When he opened his eyes, he smiled. “I understand now.”

She smiled at him. “Good. Do you feel better?”

He nodded, showing her that gentle smile and he stood up. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

Sera looked between them. “Don’t friggin do that, Creepy!”

Victor raised his eyebrows. “He….didn’t understand….touching someone’s hair?”

“I didn’t understand why it mattered. It’s so easy to hurt when you pull your hands through it. I can feel it…I mean, I did but….it feels different now. I understand. Solas used to touch your hair like that,” he said to Eckona and then looked at Sera. “Staran, the thief from Denerim. She used to touch your hair.” Then at Victor. “Your mother touched your hair. Eckona touched my hair. Now I understand.”

Victor shrugged, bewildered but not up to parse out the point. Whatever made the kid stop acting spooky would be great. “Okay. Sounds good to me.” 

Sera gave Cole his hat back and they started off again. The elves walked on either side of Cole, both keeping an eye on him.

 

 

 

Elgar’nan looked over from the middle of the hall, Dorian still hanging in front of him as he struggled.

Cassandra dashed right at him, skidding to a stop to _pulse_ , grabbing for the lyrium in his blood. The Evanuris started in surprise, jerking back and letting Dorian crash to the floor. He stared at his hands, then at Cassandra. “What did you do, witch?”

Cassandra gripped tighter into his essence, burning, setting the lyrium in his blood on _fire_. He snarled, twisting as he reached out towards the Seeker. “You--! Ah!” He managed to latch into her with invisible hooks, dragging Cassandra to him.

The Seeker did not fight it. She slid towards him, jaw set as her eyes narrowed. Her Seeker abilities wrenching into Elgar’nan. Arlath swung wide, but when he got too close—Elgar’nan managed to throw a barrier, blasting the elf away. He wiped out against the wall and staggered up, grabbing his axe and—and—

_Tam?_

The other four: Tam, Cullen, Iron Bull and Anock—they were all here. But they sat on their knees. Silent. Arlath stared at them. “Tam!”

He saw the young elf move with a strange jerkiness. Her eyes were blank when they met his. The keeper, Bryndis, gasped out loud. “They’ve been made Tranquil.”

Uleran loosed an arrow haphazardly. “Wh-what!” He left Cassandra, dashing over to Anock.

Varric swore, moving up to assist the Seeker—not that his arrows seemed to be doing a whole lot. But his head was spinning so hard, he couldn’t aim properly as it was. “Hey! You idiots!”

Arlath whirled around. “No—Cassandra! Get back! Get away from him!”

Cassandra tried to look at Arlath but then he had her. Elgar’nan grabbed her by the hair. “You little bitch. How are you _doing_ that?”

“I am a Seeker,” she snarled at him.

“A what?”

Cassandra blinked. “Huh?”

He sneered and grabbed the side of her face. 

Varric fired a bolt at the elf’s head. It vaporized through his barrier.

Cassandra raised her eyebrows at the elf. “Having trouble?”

Elgar’nan stared at her when her eyes didn’t empty out. He wrenched her to the side, slamming her into the floor, bearing down on her while the others frantically attacked the barrier he’d thrown up. He peered at her and _pulsed_ into her skull, grabbing for the connection to the Fade, to her horrible burning power he felt in his blood, for—

But nothing happened. Except she grabbed her dagger and slammed it into the side of his neck. Blood erupted, pouring out onto Cassandra. The elf roared in rage, summoning burning blasting blaring heat, slamming it into them—

She ripped the dagger through the fleshy pulp of his throat and flipped him. Her fingers dug into the mess of flesh and blood, finding his jawbone and tearing _up_ \--

And then the spirit was next to her. Mercy, who had led them here. It presented to them as female. She ghosted through the barrier and knelt, touching Elgar’nan’s face. Something seemed to spark, coming free from him like a mist and the spirit absorbed it.

His barrier fell and he died. 

Cassandra stared curiously at the spirit as she turned, walking over to Dorian and his orb of time magic. “Hallo Andruil,” the spirit said and then she grabbed the orb. It collapsed. There was a horrible flood of shrieking rage—

And then it vanished, the spirit absorbed it.

Suddenly, she seemed more solid. Her spectral golden form shifted and she faced them. Dark brown hair rolled down her back, her green-grey eyes looked over them and she went to Tam. She touched the red-head. 

Not just a physical touch. Cassandra felt the spirit touch Tam’s _mind_ , like the end of a Seeker's vigil. 

The girl collapsed, eyes filling with light again, terror. “What was that! That was horrible! What happened!”

Cassandra jumped up, running over to Cullen. “Commander. Cullen? Bryndis—is Dorian alive!”

The keeper was already hurrying over to the other mage. “Yes—somehow, barely.” She knelt, casting a net of healing magic over the Tevinter mage. 

The spirit gently touched Cassandra’s hand, pulling it away from Cullen’s face. And then she touched him, _pulsing_ through his mind. Any lasting connection he had to lyrium vanished. He became aware abruptly, shaking. Cassandra helped him sit. “C-Cassandra….” He shuddered.

“What happened, Cullen?”

“He—that elf—he made them Tranquil. He—I was Tranquil. It was….” He shook his head. “Maker—he killed Dorian. And Solas—he said Solas put Arlathan in the Fade. Arlathan _is_ the Black City.”

Cassandra stared at him. “What.”

“Who _was_ he!” Uleran demanded, kneeling by Anock and hesitating when the spirit approached him last. 

She urged him aside and looked at Anock. Something became sadder in her face. She reached out and touched him and waited to see the light come back into his eyes.

He stared at her. “You reversed the Tranquility. My. My lady.” Anock bowed his head. “I’m sorry. I was a coward and—“ And then he seemed to really _look_ at her. “ _Ghilan’nain?_ ”

She smiled and bowed her head to him. “No. But I know where she is.”

Iron Bull was sitting down, trying not to remember how much that had been like being with the re-educators. “Who the fuck is that?”

“The elven goddess of navigation. She’s the Guide. The Navigator. You know where she is?” 

“Is she here?” Bryndis asked.

“Yes,” said the spirit. “Follow me.”

Anock staggered up. “Make a camp—tend to the others,” he said quietly to Uleran and then looked at Cassandra. “My lady. Will you….accompany me?”

Cassandra nodded silently. Varric got up too.

“You do not have to come, Varric. You look terrible.”

“I know. But if my head’s gonna be inside out regardless, I may as well look around the temple. This place is something else. Looks untouched by looters.”

The human, the dwarf and the elf trailed after Mercy. “I hear her calling,” said Mercy. “I have heard her pain for many days after they brought the Eluvian to Nessum. I heard it but could not go through it. I had to make myself real first, I believe.”

“Oh, we know someone like that,” Cassandra said.

“You should stick around,” Varric chuckled. “I think you’d like him. Mercy and Compassion aren’t so different.”

“Is there a name you would like us to call you? Our friend is a spirit of Compassion but he lets us call him Cole.”

The spirit looked at herself. “This form—I copied it from a girl named Annalise before she died.”

“You…became her?”

“No. After the Veil fell, I just….copied her.”

“How about Liesel,” Varric suggested. “That’s a pretty name.”

“All right, Liesel. Thank you. Cassandra. And. Varric. And Anock.” She walked up to a door constructed entirely of onyx. “She’s in here.” She skimmed her fingers over the tiny hairline fracture that made the door seal.

“All right, kids, out of the way. Time for the professional here.” Varric put his crossbow down and knelt in front of the door. After a few minutes of squeaks and shudders from the doors, they creaked open. Liesel stepped inside. 

Cassandra gasped. "Maker have mercy."

A woman was seated on the floor. Her wrists were chained to the wall. Her clothes were torn and ragged. But the worst was her face. Her eyes had been torn out. She was lovely, with flowing white hair but the bruised pits of her eyes staring out at them made all the hair on the back of Cassandra’s neck stand up. 

"Is she...dead?" Anock asked.

The woman stirred, her ear turning towards them. "Who is there? I feel Mercy and Faith. How did you get in here, my friends? I can no longer feel Elgar’nan.”

“He is dead….my lady,” Anock said quietly.

Her sightless eyes turned towards him. “You are elven? I feel the gift in you and others.”

“I can’t just stand here and watch this—shit.” Varric grabbed his tools, hurrying to the woman’s side. “One second, uh, ma’am. Have you out of these in a quick. Are you….uh. Hurt? I mean—anywhere besides….”

“Besides my eyes, master dwarf?”

“Yes. Sorry.”

“No—I…have not met a dwarf in a very long time. The Veil has fallen, hasn’t it? The Stone Children are connected again. It is terrifying for them.”

“You ain’t shittin, ma’am.”

“You do not seem much concerned that Elgar’nan is dead,” Cassandra said.

Varric managed to unlock the cuffs and he grabbed her arms, gently lowering them. “Shit,” he murmured, looking at what must have been years of struggling worth of scarring, scabbing and bleeding. 

“I am concerned if more of them are not dead.”

“Andruil and Elgar’nan are inside of me,” Liesel said. “Do you want them? They speak still, a little. Whispering, warding, wanting—waiting.”

“Yes, give them to me.”

“Wait—what do you mean—“ Cassandra started.

Anock held up a hand to Cassandra. “Wait….”

Leisel knelt down in front of the blinded elf. She sat very still on her knees, letting the white-haired elf touch her face. Her sightless eyes wandered as she listened. Whatever she heard from Mercy seemed to satisfy her. She ran her hands over Leisel’s face and then touched her chest. 

There was a draft, fluttering around Leisel and then golden dust seemed to burst around her. The elf breathed in and then Anock felt a sudden _crush_ of thought. 

Elgar’nan and Andruil vanished. 

Anock hurried forward. “My Lady,” he said, gently touching her hands. She held onto him and he helped her stand. “Are they gone?”

“Yes. They are gone. You know who I am,” she asked quietly.

“Ghilan’nain, the Guide. The stories say that…a hunter put out your eyes.”

“She did,” said Ghilan’nain, taking Anock’s left hand in her right one and leaning on him a little. “The stories are quite different from what happened. Am I Ghilan’nain? Am I Andraste? Am I both?”

“Andraste was the Bride of the Maker,” Cassandra said, almost sternly.

She smiled. “I’m sure that amused him to know.”

Varric did a double-take. “Wh-what?”

Her smile saddened a little. “…..do you know where Solas is?”

“No, my lady.”

“I wonder if, perhaps, he went west.”

Cassandra and Varric exchanged glances. 

“Where in the west? The Approach?” Cassandra asked.

“No….I would have to see a map. Well, touch a map. I can find it on a map if I can touch the borders of land and sea.”

Cassandra took the lead, going back into the great hall. A fire had been built in one of the pyres. Elgar’nan’s body was wrapped in a curtain and Arlath was burning him outside. By the time Cassandra appeared again, he was coming back in. 

He started a little. “What happened? Who is that?” He went to them, examining the woman. Tam glanced at the woman but didn’t get up. She was leaning a bit on Cullen, who had an arm around her.

Ghilan’nain stood up straighter, ear turned towards Arlath. “A strong warrior. May I borrow a staff?” 

Anock went for his immediately, gently curling her fingers around it. She gripped it and tapped the floor. She waited a moment and then did it again.

“What are you doing, my lady?” Anock asked.

“I cause ripples in the Fade, it sends vibrations through the world so that I can see some of its shadows.”

“Who were you to Solas?” Cassandra asked, pulling out Elgar’nan’s desk and sweeping debris off so she could lay down a map. She put down some small stones so that the blind elf could feel the borders.

“I helped him. I took Dirthamen’s orb from his temple a long time ago.”

Dorian sat up. “What!” he squawked. “Miss? Did you just say you took an orb from Dirthamen’s temple?”

She turned towards his voice.

Dorian took a sharp breath. “It _is_ you. We saw you. You were the one we saw when we went into the Fade.”

The Guide leaned on the staff, walking across the hall with dainty, light steps. She stopped in front of Dorian. “You are Dorian Pavus—Elgar’nan spoke of you. Companion to the Inquisitor—a fearful enemy?”

“Well, she _was_ pretty good at killing people.”

“I’m lost,” Iron Bull said loudly. “What the _fuck_ is going on?” 

“I have been imprisoned. Now that the Elgar’nan is gone—I’m free.”

“Then why aren’t you attacking us?” Dorian asked quietly. “Are you not on his side?”

“No. Fen’Harel did not betray me. He was Solas, then. A long, long time ago. I have ached to see my friend but now we rush headlong into the End. She already goes there.”

“Eckona? Is she alive?” Cassandra asked.

“Yes. You fight to save my friend from himself. I will join you.”

Cassandra studied the elf. With her white hair and….

“I know what you are thinking—if there is a connection between me and Eckona,” said the Guide. “Perhaps, at some level, there is—but only to Solas. In any case, he would not have wanted all this.” She looked up at the sky rumbled above them. 

“Then why did he do it?” Cassandra demanded.

“He did not want to die alone. He’d rather die with us than die alone.”

Dorian started, remembering the graveyard they’d found in the Fade. A stone for each of them and Solas’ had it written right on it: _Dying Alone_

The elven woman walked over to Elgar’nan’s desk, passed it. “Come. This way.”

Ghilan’nain led Cassandra to a small armory, where she selected a polearm for herself. “I doubt you want to trust a friend of Fen’Harel.”

“You are correct.”

“Mythal is gone, Elgar’nan and Andruil are gone. Dirthamen is no longer in the Black City. June wastes away in horror of what the world has become. Both of them will go to Fen’Harel eventually. If only to find Falon’Din and Sylaise. Solas did not lie when he said every alternative was worse. This is bad but it does not compare to what they would have done. But Solas acted too soon. He unlocked June’s orb too soon. He wants to die. He knows what he’s becoming. And he isn’t sure he can stop himself. An alchemist told him what to do. And he listened. His act was a little _too_ good.”

Cassandra studied the woman. “You….really _knew_ Solas back then. Didn’t you?”

“I did. He was my first friend.” 

 

 

=


	32. Will of Iron

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My other choice for the name of this chapter was: Vivienne is a Godless Killing Machine  
> \----------
> 
> “What happened to you?”
> 
> “Legs crushed by a very angry elven god.”
> 
> “What did you do this time?” Rainier asked him.
> 
> Dorian chuckled. “I pickpocketed him.”
> 
> Rainier laughed.

“Do you know where he trapped Sylaise and Falon’Din?” Cassandra asked her as they headed back into the hall.

Ghilan’nain kept the pole arm, handing Anock his staff back. “One is under a great human city called Val Royeaux.”

Cassandra started. “Under Val Royeaux! Leliana—“ She looked at Varric.

“Even if we went back through the Eluvian—its dark now and it would just take us to Nessum.”

“There is an eluvian here?” Ghilan’nain said quietly. “Take me to it.”

Anock went to her side, automatically putting a hand just above her back as if to lead her by touch. But he did not quite dare, “This way, my lady,” he said instead, leading her onward.

When they reached it, Ghilan’nain lifted a graceful hand, touching the glass. She smiled a little. “It has been so long since I touched an eluvian.”

“Did you use them often….before?” Varric asked.

She smiled. “I am the guide. I helped create them. I was the Navigator—not because of my travels over the lands of the world but because I created the means to expand our touch across all of Thedas. Even Elgar’nan cannot control the eluvians like I can.”

“Is that why he had you locked up here?”

“Yes and likely, he was hoping to lure Solas here. Once he found out I was alive, he would have come to try to free me.” The blind elf seemed to feel Cassandra’s curious gaze. She turned her face towards her. “It is not so strange. I would have done the same, were our places reversed. As would you for Master Tethris or for Master Arlath or Lady Eckona. And as any of them would for you, Lady Cassandra.”

“Ahg, don’t tell her that,” Varric grumped. “Now she’ll know I never mean the things I say.”

Ghilan’nain smiled gently at the mirror. “She already knows.”

Cassandra huffed and Varric grumbled, neither looking at each other.

Ghilan’nain laid her palm flat against the mirror. “Where is Val Royeaux? It did not exist the last time I was free to wander the world.”

“Inland of the Waking Sea.”

“It was built over Falon’Din’s temple, then.”

The mirror pulsed and then was no longer dark, glowing and rippling with light. “The closest location is here,” she told them. 

The mirror flickered, showing something like the Crossroads. “The eluvian in his temple is gone—taken by a human witch, but another remains underground at the shore.”

“Let us go then. “

 

 

Vivienne curled her fist and the man shattered apart. The last one, thankfully. She pushed herself off her knees, cursing. She was soaked in sweat and blood. The road was dangerous—as she’d quickly discovered. Not everyone was so cowed by the sky turning into a proverbial soup pot of terror. She had to admire their inventiveness and courage but that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to kill them when they attacked. Vivienne was quick to search each one carefully, taking all their coin and stripping their body armor. 

She was a Lady, dammit, but she wasn’t a stupid one. She pulled on the body armor of one of the thieves. It was heavier than she was accustomed but she hardly cared. She took the belt off their alchemist and took two daggers from one of the warriors. She attached them, pedantic, thorough as she checked the blades and slid them home into their sheathes. Not a one was a mage, unfortunately, so no staff but one did have a spear—which would serve as a directing tool. Perhaps the most important thing these thieves had was a horse. After wrapping her raw and bleeding feet in several layers of cloth so that she could wear a pair of their heavy boots, she managed to catch the beast. It was impatient, snorting with the scent of blood on the air. She petted his nose, speaking quietly, gently, calming the animal until she could mount it.

And then she was off, flying down the road at a breakneck pace. The horse seemed glad to run, galloping away from the death on the road. There was plenty in the fields around them but they passed in a flash, racing to beat the sunset to Val Royeaux.

She wondered, occasionally, what her parents might think if they could see her. She didn’t know much about them after she’d been taken to Ostwick. She only knew about Before—when they were drunks and merchants, squandering what they made and gullible to trickery. It had been a relief to be taken to a Circle—food, clothes, warmth and education. She would never be hungry again.

She wanted to ring Solas’ neck, twist his head right off. She’d gone hungry because of his selfishness and chaos. If she ever saw him again, she was going to tear his ears off herself. She’d give him something to _actually_ complain about. Oh, goodness, your people are gone? The elves are terrible compared to what you knew? Of course, that justifies mass slaughter and terror, unleashing the Veil and the Fade upon the unsuspecting masses. Yes, of course, Solas—open all up to the possibility of possession, of killing, of being torn apart by demons. Yes, certainly the spirits would be so glad to be part of this world, they would _never_ possess anyone now. A dangerous, selfish apostate who was complicit to murder. What had she said since she’d met him? Eckona was weak. She should have taken matters into her own hands. She had underestimated Solas—Vivienne could admit to that. She’d underestimated his sheer lack of giving a damn about anything. He _had_ seemed to genuinely care about the Inquisitor—but clearly, that hadn’t mattered. She might be dead too. And all he cared about was silly vengeance for a death of some horrible woman a thousand or so years ago? This is why Vivienne only went through the _motions_ of religion. She didn’t actually get involved in it. It was too dangerous to become too invested in belief in something one couldn’t prove or actually have an impact on. Things like this happened—fanatics and fools were the only ones who believed in religion so much as to _kill_ for it. To take revenge for it. Thousands had died. _Thousands_. How would he _ever_ justify that to himself or anyone else? Those who thought one should die for religion, clearly ought to be starting with themselves.

Eckona was a fool but she was a predictable and honest fool, at least. Had she been taken to a Circle—she would have been wildly successful. If she could have been taken away from the Dalish and raised to know the value of the Game, then her honesty and perseverance would have served her well. She might have made a difference in the Circle. The girl wasn’t _stupid_ , just poorly directed. Misguided. Unable to see the big picture when her emotions got involved. How she felt about Solas would inevitably interfere with what should actually be _done_ with the apostate. If Vivienne believed in luck—she’d hope that someone with Eckona would do the right thing and kill Solas. But Vivienne _didn’t_ believe in luck. So it was likely that someone would have to follow-up. With any _luck_ at all, it would be _her_. By which she meant, she was _angry_ enough now that she was going to _hunt down_ Solas and murder him herself. Because when you _truly_ wanted something done, you did it yourself. Counting on others led to situations like this:

Running through the plains on a stolen horse with ill-fitting armor, covered in sweat and blood and wounds while thousands died across Thedas for the selfish stupidity of one apostate.

She saw the spires of Val Royeaux a few miles out. A camp had sprouted up around the city, filled with refugees from other cities. Mages and a few Templars were standing guard outside of it. She pulled on the reigns of her horse. “Let me pass. I must enter the city.”

“Who are you,” demanded one of the mages.

“Madam de Fer?” asked one of the Templars, looking stunned. “There was rumor you’d been killed in Halamshiral, my lady. I am Calcana—may I escort you into the city.”

She turned her blue eyes to the Templar, ignoring the mage. “I see _someone_ around still knows how to do something productive. Yes, my dear Templar. I am Madam de Fer. I have come from Halamshiral with news from the Empress. Is the Grand Cathedral still in one piece?”

“Hey—“

She ignored the mage, staying on her horse and walking beside the Templar.

“Yes, my lady,” said the Templar, sheathing her sword. “Divine Victoria is fortifying the city in preparation for possible siege.”

“From whom, exactly?”

“From anyone, my lady. Demons destroyed much of the market but now that the Veil is gone—the demons seem to be disappearing. No spirits have approached, however; she wants all on guard.”

“Good. Go to the outmost defense and have the mages begin preparation for a ward—a diamond of protection for the refugees, at least. Until we can get them all into the city. It may be necessary to use the sewers but I will see what Divine Victoria intends.” She waited on her horse while the Templar opened the gates. “Thank you, Templar Calcana. I will see that you are remembered.”

Vivienne rode into the city, ignoring frightened nobles and pedestrians. Her horse was on its last legs by the time she reached the Grand Cathedral—also filled with people. She rode through the camp, dismounting with a flourish in front of the building. 

“Where is the Divine?” she asked the first guard she encountered.

“Inside, my la—First Enchanter!” The guard whirled around to open the door. “Please, enter, First Enchanter.”

“Thank you, my dear.”

Vivienne walked into the Grand Cathedral. Inside, a warcamp had been set up. How like Leliana. She didn’t care much for appearances unless it effected the great Game. 

“First Enchanter!” a mage said in surprise.

“I’ve news from Halamshiral. Take me to Divine Victoria. Now.”

They were quick to jump-to. So nice to be back somewhere civilized. Where her place was known. She followed two Circle mages upstairs to the library. Inside, Divine Victoria was leaning over two maps. Her Leliana face was on. 

Leliana’s eyes flicked up and then paused. “Vivienne.”

“She brings news from Halamshiral, Your Perfection.”

Leliana dismissed the mages. “Come, tell me what you know.”

Vivienne scoffed softly. “A great many things—the most important of the moment is that Empress Celene and Duke Gaspard are dead and Marquis Briala is still missing. There is no one in the Winter Palace except a rabble. They are killing at will.”

“Like so many others,” Leliana sighed. “Not unexpected in this chaos.” She waved over one of her scouts. “Go get the First Enchanter proper armor and a staff.”

“And draw a bath, would you, dear. The road was long and very dangerous.”

The scout glanced at Leliana and bowed her head when the Divine nodded.

“How long did it take you to get here?”

“Three days, so I might come to you and ensure you’d know that Orlais is without leadership. The Chantry must take command in its absence. Halamshiral is in chaos.”

“If you believe there is more to be done, First Enchanter, then give me your input,” Leliana said. Her tone was cold.

“Do we yet know the location of Solas? He _is_ the cause of all this, yes?”

“So far as we’ve heard. But I’ve had little since this all began. Communication is heavily disrupted, cities are in chaos, the countryside and villages are battlegrounds and blood bathes. My scouts are returning, slowly. And all bring news of madness. 

“And what of Lady Inquisitor?”

“Nothing since Nessum. Dorian sent a message when they arrived at the manor of Lord Formaint. That was it.”

The building groaned and rumbled.

Vivienne looked about her.

“There have been several small disruptions since all this began. It shakes the building.”

“It’s magic that’s doing it,” Vivienne said. “That is not a normal quake.”

“Well, there _is_ a weather problem, if you’d noticed.”

Vivienne’s eyes hooded, matching Leliana’s icy stare. “Then perhaps we ought to _deal_ with it, Your _Perfection_.”

“Do you believe something nearby is causing it, _First_ Enchanter?”

The scouts looked between the Divine and the Enchanter and unconsciously took a step back. 

Vivienne took a deep breath, letting her anger and annoyance simmer down. “It would have to be. Perhaps under the Cathedral. The epicenter of—“

The building rumbled again, making the chandeliers shake. 

“They do appear to be getting stronger, Lady Nightingale,” said one of the scouts.

“I don’t have time for any of your little games, Enchanter.”

“I promise you, my dear, this is no game.”

Leliana eyed Vivienne and then nodded. “Fine then.” She stalked over to a large wardrobe and opened it, pulling out her bow and daggers. 

“My lady Divine!” A scout burst into the room, slowing to a stop when he saw Vivienne. “My Lady—Ambassador Montiliyet has just arrived in the harbor! She sent me to you straightaway. She’s here with some of the Bull’s Chargers and the……er, with Thom Rainier.” 

Leliana narrowed her eyes. “Get them here.” She pulled out her mail and leathers.

“My lady—?,” began one of the mages.

“There’s work to be done. Go,” Leliana commanded. She took off the Divine’s hat and tossed it onto the table. She pulled off the robe. “Useless costume, honestly.”

Vivienne smiled a little. Another scout entered with battlemage armor. Vivienne took it. She went off for a quick bath and returned as Leliana was coupling buttons and pulling the mail over her head.

The door opened again.

“Leliana!” Josephine cried out, hurrying inside.

“Josie,” Leliana said, allowing the Antivan to embrace her. “Are you all right?”

“Yes—barely. The Chargers and Ser Rainier kept me safe.”

“Where are the others?”

“We split up in Nessum just before the Veil was torn. Lady Eckona wished me to return to Antiva and sent Rainier and half of the Chargers as escort.”

Rainier was standing near the door a little awkwardly. He felt Vivienne’s cold eyes look him over and suddenly remembered the very first thing he’d said to her the very first time they’d traveled together. _Would you like a silk kerchief to wipe off the mud?_

He shifted his feet, meeting her eyes for a moment and then looking away. _Who was I to judge her or Dorian? I assumed many things about them before I knew them. And they responded to my sarcasm and insults with the same in return. And I acted like the victim of their game—when I was simply the one who began it._

Josephine was quickly summing up the terrible events they’d witnessed in Tevinter and introducing Mihris and Drevin. The ground rumbled again.

Mihris looked down. “There’s something beneath us.”

“Yes, Vivienne said the same. We were preparing to go have a look when you arrived.”

“I will stay here then,” Josephine said. “I can coordinate the efforts to move the refugees.”

Leliana nodded. “Vivienne—let’s go.”

“Wait—I…” Rainier looked at the spymaster. “….I would like to come.”

She looked at him for a long moment. “Of course, Rainier. A strong arm may be welcome if there is something beneath us.”

“It feels…..bad,” Mihris said. She looked at Krem, who had come up with them. “Can you stay here to protect the Ambassador?”

Krem nodded. “Course. Chargers will station themselves at all choke points into the Cathedral. I’ll get them on it.”

“What of you?” Leliana asked the Qunari, Drevin. 

Drevin glanced at Krem, who nodded. “My blades are yours, spymaster.”

Mihris, Drevin and Rainier were swiftly outfitted and Vivienne led them downstairs. 

“We have schematics to the old crypts under the Cathedral. They are no longer used but they are still preserved,” Leliana told them as they descended into the cellar beneath the kitchens.

Rainier went up to the wall, touching it gently. “It’s damper here.”

“The doors were walled over during the Fifth Blight, I believe,” Leliana said. 

Rainier took his warhammer and slammed it into the weakened section of the wall. It burst apart, flooding Rainier with the scent of dust and damp. A cold draft washed over him. Drevin wrapped the Fade around her, slipping first into the darkness. She lit a sconce. 

The walls and floor rumbled around them again, sending drifts of dust falling like snow on their heads. 

“There’s something down here,” Mihris said quietly.

“That much is obvious,” Vivienne said dryly. 

Mihris huffed at the other mage. 

Leliana went ahead of them, wrapping herself in the Fade as well to slip through the shadows with Drevin. The crypts were eerie and silent, the smell of dry bones and death was almost suffocating. She was surprised to find very little disturbed. Whatever was down here, it was keeping other spirits or demons away.

Rainier walked inbetween the rows of dead Divines and priests—until something out of place caught his eye. He headed towards it, feeling Leliana and Drevin shift focus to walk behind him. 

The Qunari lit another torch. “What is that?”

Rainier looked at it quietly. It was faded, blurred almost—though he suspected his lack of magical ability contributed to that. He looked at Vivienne. 

The mage came forward. “An elvish rune.” She grabbed into the Fade—it twisted, trying to slip away—but she held fast, forcing it to remember fire. 

“How do _you_ know about Veil Fire?” Mihris asked, wrinkling her nose.

“The Dalish and their quaint ways are not the only sources of magical knowledge, my dear. They continue to waste away while the rest of us continue to learn.”

Mihris bristled but Vivienne ignored her, taking the Veil Fire and lighting a torch with it. It illuminated the mark, sending it shimmering to form the rune for opening. Mihris murmured it aloud, touching the mark—

The walls rumbled again but this time, the stone slid back, revealing a set of steps going down.

Rainier went first, heading down the crumbling steps into the dark, warhammer at ready. He tried to count the steps going down but lost track at two hundred and fifteen.

Runes illuminated with the Veil Fire.

“These Runes are…odd. I mean, they’re being used in an odd way,” Mihris said. “They’re for binding and sealing. Wards, as well—there’s just so _many_.”

“That, I agree with. There are a great deal more than I would expect, even for containing the Blight or the undead,” Vivienne said, lifting the Veil Fire higher.

Rainier nearly bumped into the door. It was so black, he didn’t notice it until he was right upon it.

“This is obsidian,” Leliana said quietly. “It is heavily enchanted. Whatever is behind this door, someone did _not_ want it getting out.”

“These are very _old_ enchantments,” Mihris said uneasily.

“Older than the Cathedral, definitely,” Vivienne agreed. She passed the Veil Fire torch to Drevin and placed her palm on the door. It buzzed under her hand, hot and vibrating with energy.

After a moment, Mihris approached as well, placing her palm next to Vivienne’s. The two of them together _pulsed_ around the door. It caught and the door unlocked. 

“There will be wards in the next room,” Vivienne predicted and, as she stepped inside, she felt them break. Spectral guardians flared up around her.

Drevin dashed into the room, flipping with her blades. Leliana followed with her bow. The five of them fought, furiously until, finally, Rainier sent his hammer smashing down into the last.

“You are quite nimble for someone your size, my dear,” Vivienne told Drevin.

The Qunari snorted softly. “I’m a Madam too—but a little different from you, I think.”

“Actually, not so different, just circumstance,” Vivienne told her. “I _was_ a mistress, after all.”

“Quiet,” Leliana said, creeping further into the stone room.

There was a second sealed door, which the mages got them through and then—

“That’s a body—“ Rainier recoiled, backing up a step.

In the middle of the second room, there was a man. He was bound in silverite and obsidian. The enchantments were very faint. They flared briefly when the walls and ground trembled, louder here—and then became fainter. 

“It’s pulsing power to wear away the bindings,” Vivienne said.

“What _is_ he?” asked Drevin.

“An elf,” Mihris said, “and a powerful mage. Very powerful. These runes and bindings are incredible.

“Stop,” Leliana said suddenly. “Rainier, step back from it.”

The warrior looked at Leliana and then back and jerked, startled.

The elf’s eyes had opened. He stared out at them from the sheet of crystal that the obsidian and silverite held in place. The crystal lit up, flaring yellow and blue and then shattered.

The five jerked back, circling the strange coffin.

The ground _pulsed_ and the bindings shattered and the obsidian and silverite blew apart. The elf staggered, falling out of the coffin. 

No one moved to help him, all watching carefully.

“Who are you?” he demanded. His voice was choked with disuse.

“I am Leliana. Who are you? What are you doing down here?”

“I was…entrapped,” said the elf, staggering up.

Mihris glanced at Drevin, then back at the elf. “…..by another mage? Named Solas?”

The elf’s eyes snapped over to hers. “Where _is_ he?”

The _rage_ in his voice made them all take another step back. Except Vivienne, who sighed, “Another who finds fault with the apostate. He trapped you here? It’s sickening that he’s so apparently adept at trickery and magic. And worse that he keeps being permitted to get away with it.”

“Silence yourself, woman,” snapped the elf. “It was well done, if nothing else. Where is Dirthamen?”

Mihris froze. “You’re Falon’Din?”

Vivienne did not seem impressed, hooding her eyes at the elf. “You’ll find others who are just as talented, if you insist on being abrasive.”

The elf cocked an eyebrow at her. “Be gone from here, _shem_.” He pointed at Mihris. “You may stay. I will need you to take me above. The rest of you—go. I’ve no need for useless bodies.”

Leliana strung an arrow to her bow, eyes hooding over like Vivienne’s. “Solas may be our enemy but that doesn’t make you our friend.”

“He’s the God of the Dead,” Mihris told them.

Vivienne scoffed.

Leliana narrowed her eyes. “So am I.”

Falon’Din’s dark eyes drifted over them. “Where is Solas? Is he here?”

“No,” Rainier answered. “He isn’t. We don’t know where he is.”

The mage pointed at Mihris. “You will take me to the House of Elders. Now.”

“You’re not going anywhere until we know what you plan to do,” Leliana told him.

“You think you can contain me, _shem_? An Elder? I have fought—“

Leliana loosed her arrow. Drevin burst forward from the shadows, stabbing both knives into his back. The elf whirled, magic flaring inside of him, bursting out in fire and plague, skittering shrieks of the Void. Rainier blasted himself right into it, protecting Vivienne and slamming his hammer into the elf. Demons raised from the ground, spirits shrieked into the room, flooding over them like darkspawn. The darkness was absolute—the only visible flickers were flares of magic from Vivienne and Mihris. Rainier was blasted back into another wall—smashing right through it. He tumbled, staggering up, throwing out the length of Fade-chain and jerking the apparent-god away from Leliana. Drevin flipped, dancing just out of reach, flashing through the enclosed space, stabbing. As Vivienne turned in her lovely dance, power and grace and shields and raw, blasting energy. And then she summoned her spirit blade.

“ _Dirth’ena Enasalin?_ ” 

That moment of surprise in him, stunned to see a human woman use tactics of the Arcane Warriors of—

She slashed him, the golden blade singing into his chest. “Say goodnight,” Vivienne advised and then she ripped the blade _up_. It exploded out of his throat, blasting the room in golden light. With a wave of her hand, she dispelled the blade. “What was that he said?”

“ _Dirth’ena Enasalin,_ ” Mihris said. “The path to victory. What _shems_ call a Knight-Enchanter, the ancient elves had the Arcane Warriors, elite warriors who protected elven nobility.”

Drevin found the torch in the dark and Mihris relit it. 

The strange elf lay on the floor for a moment before Drevin huffed and knelt down to search his pockets. That made Rainier smile but he suppressed a laugh, at least. 

Vivienne was about to turn around when her eye caught on a curious shape in the dark. She turned back, heading into the corner of the room. “Rainier—be a dear and bring the torch, if you would.” 

He hesitated and then took the torch from Drevin, going up behind the beautiful sorceress. And then he blinked. “Hey….isn’t that one of those artifacts that Solas was always wanting us to find?”

“Indeed,” Vivienne agreed and reached out, touching it.

It sparked into life.

“He said they strengthened the Veil,” Leliana said. “At the time, we believed him. Do we know what they actually do?”

“No,” Vivienne said and she closed her hand, pulling the Fade away from the artifact so that it sputtered and went out again. She picked it up. The curious sphere was about the size of an orange, the base was thick like a brick. “Let’s take it with us. Perhaps it will be of use.”

“Should we take him too?” Drevin asked, pointing at the corpse. 

“Rainier, if you would, darling.” Vivienne waved a hand and then started for the stairs.

 

There was a commotion when they finally made it back up. Apparently, Cassandra had appeared at the gates. Leliana hurried to the main hall. 

“Cassandra!”

“Leliana!” Cassandra said in relief, going to her. “We must act—there is something buried beneath Val Royeaux.”

Leliana blinked. “I don’t suppose it was a very strange elf?”

Cassandra blinked. “You found him?”

“We just finished. Mihris said he was Falon’Din. The elven God of Death?”

Cassandra heaved a sigh. “Thank the Maker.”

“Ah, I see. That is what I felt,” said Ghilan’nain, facing the general direction of Leliana’s voice. “Poor Falon’Din….”

“It was a mercy to kill him,” Liesel said quietly. “He was driven mad by the end. The others hated him and he, them. But he was kinder.”

Leliana did a slight double-take at Ghilan’nain, then Liesel. “Who are you?”

“This is Lady Ghilan’nain,” said Anock, “the Guide and the Navigator.”

“I’m Liesel,” said Liesel brightly.

Leliana looked at Cassandra. 

“A demon? Another one?” asked Vivienne. “Really? After everything that’s happened?”

“Wait a moment,” Josephine interrupted. “How on earth did you arrive here at almost the same time as me?”

Cassandra gestured to the blind elf. “This Ghilan’nain apparently created the eluvians. She opened one to a place near here.”

“Do you know what happened to Eckona?” Leliana asked.

“We know she is alive,” Cassandra said. “And she is on her way to Solas. Sera, Cole and a Tevinter rogue named Victor are with her.”

Vivienne sighed. “Ah, so, once again. Solas will be permitted to continue. I seriously doubt she will have it in her to kill him.”

“We must trust her judgment,” Leliana said, pulling off one of her gauntlets, stiff with blood.

“Must we?” asked Vivienne. “If what they are saying is true—he has caused more death and destruction than any previous Blight ever could.”

Cassandra hesitated and then said, “For once, I agree with Enchanter Vivienne. I do not believe she would kill Solas. Her need to find him has consumed her.”

Leliana looked at Cassandra.

The warrior’s face stayed grim. “You did not see her before we separated, Leliana. I think it best if I go. Ghilan’nain can take me there.”

Leliana frowned and then nodded. “All right. Go then. Be careful, my friend. We can’t know the full extent of how unstable or how dangerous Solas has become.”

“He was _always_ unstable and dangerous,” Vivienne scowled.

Cassandra shook her head. “Lady Ghilan’nain, would you like to stay here—“

“No. I will go with you. Whether he dies or lives, I would be there when it happens.”

Cassandra nodded and turned to walk out.

Anock went to Ghilan’nain’s side. Liesel followed Cassandra, as did Arlath.

Cullen sighed, “No rest for the wicked.” He followed the Seeker. 

“All right, one more time, then we’ll party like a Blight just ended. I promise,” Varric waved to Leliana and slung his crossbow on his back to follow Cassandra. 

Uleran was not sure what to do—as Anock seemed to have completely turned his attention to Ghilan’nain. He stayed, as did Vivienne. 

Dorian refused to be left behind, despite his injuries. Bryndis had healed as much as she could. He could walk, barely. He might never recover full use of them but he didn’t care. Iron Bull walked beside him. 

Tam and Bryndis stayed to tell Josephine and Leliana what had occurred. This thing with Solas sounded rather personal, so Mihris took the opportunity to stay behind, as did Drevin and the Chargers. Rainier hesitated and then hurried to follow the others. He offered Dorian his arm—as Bull was so awkwardly big that it really hindered more than helped.

The mage looked at him, confused.

“To lean on….”

Dorian’s face changed a little, something sadder crossing it. He nodded and took it. “Thank you, Rainier.” 

“What happened to you?”

“Legs crushed by a very angry elven god.”

“What did you do this time?” Rainier asked him.

Dorian chuckled. “I pickpocketed him.”

Rainier laughed.


	33. The Night Path

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas/Ghilan'nain  
> \-----  
> Cole stiffened. “You….can’t hurt me….” He said softly, blood bubbling up between his teeth.
> 
> “Creepy!” Sera burst, magic exploding everywhere, flashing to Dirthamen and grabbing into him. She flipped backwards, slamming the ancient into the stone. “You fucking pisser son of a bitch fucking hate _all of you_ fucking shit shit dammit crapfucker arsebiscuit!” Every word emphasized with a wet crunch, slamming his face into the stone over and over, until it was matted with blood and bits of hair. Blood splattered her hands and arms and face, smearing hot, red droplets, rage building the more times that Dirthamen’s nose cracked against the stone.  
>  \-------------------------------------------------------

Solas lifted the little statue and showed it to Ghilan’nain. 

“What is it?”

“They’re foci. Different from the ones the Elders have, smaller. They don’t contain as much power but I sealed one in each of these. I believe….that….with these placed in strategical coordinates, they will be able to support the Veil after I cast it.”

Ghilan’nain looked at the little statue, like an orange sitting on a brick. But it was smooth and warm with magic. “How many can we make?”

“As many as we can gather. I have a small stock of the lesser orbs. I believe we can find more. If we both channel magic into them—we can finish them in time.”

“I’ll take some with me when I go to Falon’Din’s temple.”

“Ghilan’nain—“

“It should be safe now that he is bound. And even if he were not or had taken an avatar, there is always the chance that, if I were found—he would relent. He has always shown more kindness to me than the others.”

“He is the guide of the dead. I suppose he sees you as his foil. You’re the guide of the living. Still. I don’t like the idea—if he somehow could possess an avatar or—“

She half-smiled. “What? What could they do? They’ve taken so much from me. Even…” She looked at her hands. She dug her fingers into her palms. She could still feel the loss, like an aching emptiness inside of her when Dirthamen took her magic to create creatures away. But she’d stood her ground, at least. He would never have the secrets of her dragons. She shook her head. “We’ve come this far, Solas. Don’t try to shut me out, now.”

He set down the little statue. “I’m sorry, Ghilan.” He pulled her to him and embraced her. “You have given so much and I’m so ungrateful.”

“You are, you know.”

He laughed lightly, pulling back to look into her dark eyes. They were sparkling, like the Void but so warm. Warm where the Void was cold. He ran his fingers through her white hair. She leaned into him, her nose touching the hem of his collar. 

“Ghilan’nain,” he murmured into her ear, taking a breath and seeming to steel himself. “Ghilan’nain, when I cast it….will you…come with me?”

“Of course, Solas. I wouldn’t be anywhere else.” She tried to smile.

“I’ll….plot the locations on the maps of where the foci should go to support the Veil.”

“Dirthamen’s should support it until I can get Falon’Din’s. Getting his should make the Veil twice as strong.”

“Try to put as many of these in as many places as you can before you go to Falon’Din’s. Just in case.”

She nodded, blinking hard.

“If I fail….” He swallowed hard. “….if the Veil doesn’t work and I die in the process….I don’t know what will happen.”

“I’ll handle whatever comes. The people we’ve gathered are strong. Stronger than the Elders can imagine. They will _fight_. And I will too. No matter what happens, Solas—this won’t go to waste.”

He smiled, gentle and warm, touching her hair. “You know, I think our people are hoping that we’ll finally just give in to everything.”

She laughed a little. “You noticed how all your shrines have a halla statue and how all of mine have a wolf now?”

“They started telling me about them a few months ago. Apparently, our shrines have become meeting places for rebellious types.” He laughed. “And _also_ star-crossed lovers.”

“What a waste,” she told him. “Dying for love seems so backwards.”

“Dying for love is the most dramatic and romantic death there is.” 

“Don’t start getting any ideas. We may be planning just in case you die—but if you actually do, I will be very cross with you.”

“Very cross? Sounds bad.” He lifted his eyebrows.

“You’ve no idea, Dread Wolf.”

“Are they still calling me that?”

“Oh yes—I don’t think they intended for it to become so popular.”

His hands found her hips. Her lithe form was wrapped in silver satin and small pearls. He touched the little stones, feeling the texture they made at her waist. “Does it unsettle you?”

She looked down at his hands on her and then back up at him. Her eyes had more light, more stars. “Dread Wolf…no. I’m the Guide. If I have a wolf at my side, then I’m safe and so is he.”

Something in his eyes shattered apart, fingers tightening into her waist. “Ghilan’nain…”

She reached up, gently touching his dark hair, cupping around his ear and touching the edge of it. “Guide me to you, my friend. So that in the Dream, I can follow.” She raised on her tip toes and their mouths brushed.

She heard his shaking breath. “Ghilan…”

“I know. We shouldn’t. We could both be dead very soon,” she murmured against his mouth. 

They touched and then his grip tightened and he grabbed her into him, grabbed into the silver satin and pearls, hearing the little bells at her ankles chime as she shifted her thighs. He drug his hands up her spine and kissed her. She breathed, shaky. Her magic was tingling on her skin. He felt the part of it that Dirthamen had stolen like a void in her heart but the rest was still there. Hazelnut, cream, lemon: her magic always smelled so _good_ to him.

His scent was so spicy and earthy. It should not have worked with hers, but it did.

He picked her up, setting her on his worktable, shoving her skirts up her thighs. He gathered them at her waist, digging his fingers into them and leaning into her breasts. She wrapped her arms around him, cheek against his hair, fingers tangling into the strands. They breathed each other in. 

He opened his robes and his hand cupped her small breast and she rolled her hips to meet him, eager for him. They’d held back for so long—

He pressed into her, looking up at her eyes when he did so he could watch them widen. Her mouth opened and she took a sharp breath. Her grip on him tightened and she buried her eyes in his shoulders, moaning softly against him.

“Why did we wait so long…” he murmured.

“Because the humans understand that they run out of time. Our people don’t, Solas.”

Solas bowed his head. “I suppose that’s true. Even I didn’t think I would.” He smoothed a thumb along her eyebrow. “And now…suddenly all I want…is more time.”

“There…there will be time,” she told him, blinking hard and then foregoing it and just wiping her eyes. “There will be time.”

He embraced her, burying their eyes into each other, feeling a hitch in her shoulders when she fought the silent sob back. And then she was grabbing him, kissing him harder, pulling him into her. It jarred him inside of her, made him twitch deeper and they both shuddered. 

He pulled her up tight against him, like he could absorb her into his skin. Her white hair and his dark hair tangling together in her fingers, her nose touched his cheek, feeling the dampness on his skin. She wiped it away and he mirrored her actions, wiping away hers. Their mouths found each other again. His fingers grabbed her hair, pulling her head back, attacking her throat as he finally lost control, threw aside his restraint. 

 

The next few days both crawled and blurred. They spent it together, desperate now that they knew the end was coming. 

And soon, on the last day of autumn, it was upon them. The beginning of winter, the moon’s season and the longest night of the year. 

He had his own orb, he had Dirthamen’s and he had Mythal’s. Mythal’s would amplify the casting and let him construct the Veil, Dirthamen’s would allow him to put it in place. They had given out many of the little statues to his contacts, who now spread across the continent to place them in preparation. The remaining were in Ghilan’nain’s hall in the plains. 

When the day broke, the two of them left together. She hadn’t handed over complete control of the Eluvians to Elgar’nan. She still maintained her own mirrors for her own use, carefully hidden from the Elders. She used them now to step to Solas in the far West. And together, they went to the mountains that split the continent. This was the closest point that they had on earth to the Deep Fade and one of the highest spots in the mountains. It was snowing when they arrived, bundled up as they stepped out of a sheet of ice near the mountain. 

He was wearing simple robes. He had his staff and a small pack. Their hands met in the blowing wind and wrapped around each other. The Aurora was burning in the sky, flexing across the dimming day by the time they reached the Circle. 

A land bridge connected to it, spanning a deep chasm in the glacier around it. It was large enough for a keep but only had a small hunting cabin for now. 

Now that they were finally here, after years of work and preparation—neither seemed certain of what to do. Having a sense of time was making them both anxious. They could only wait for the wind to die down. They could only wait. 

He was waiting to die. It was squeezing her heart hard enough to choke her. There was almost no chance that he would survive. She could only hold him, bring him to the fireplace and take warmth in each other while they still could.

When the wind fell silent, they both looked at the floor. 

He said slowly, softly, “…..we should begin.”

She nodded, swallowing hard, not trusting herself to speak. 

They grabbed the materials and walked out of the cabin. The sky had cleared to brilliant green and black and gold. They walked over to the edge of the rock. They were silent another moment.

And then, “Whatever happens, I’m proud to have done this beside you, Solas.” She took his hand.

“It has weighed heavy on your heart.”

“Two hearts bearing a single burden make that burden easier to bear, my friend.”

He embraced her, once last time. He felt her breathing hitch against his chest and then she stepped back. Her eyes were dark but clear, dry of tears. She stepped back, hugging herself as she watched him.

His dark hair fluttered in the wind and he took out Mythal’s orb, cradling it in his hands. He invoked around it, the orb lifting into the air. A circle of light appeared around him, blue and burning into the snow. It took every single ounce of control not to go to him, not to push the orb away and not let him do this. 

It must be done. 

She did not close her eyes, however. They had carried this together for so long—if she could not do it with him because of the magic Dirthamen had stolen, then she would stand as his lighthouse in the dark. She channeled with her will to support him as he unlocked Mythal’s orb. It flashed light over the two of them, scattering shadows in the snow.

And then he did it. He cut his hands and the orb took his blood. She felt him hesitate, felt how badly he suddenly wanted more _time_. But there was none. His determination hardened and he breathed, calming himself.

“Open.”

A rift blasted into existence above him. It expanded like a shockwave, slamming into the mountain peaks around them. Ghilan’nain had to drop so she wouldn’t be swept off the edge, watching him desperately. His dark hair and robes were outlined in blazing light.

Beside him, Dirthamen’s orb lifted and the light became so bright as to burn into her. She was blinded by it, shielding them and then something slammed her into the rocky ground. She pushed her chin up, watching still. Dirthamen’s orb burst apart. 

Ghilan’nain felt it like a punch in her stomach. Suddenly severed, the Fade muting sharp and….

And….

When her eyes opened again, the sun had risen. The flat top of the Circle had completely cleared of snow. The sky was a crystalline blue. She could feel the Veil. It had worked.

It was in place.

It….

She shook away the strange clumsiness in her head. Everything felt thick and strange. She staggered up.

Solas was lying on the rock.

She ran to him. “Solas!”

She knew his chances. She _knew_ them. Still. 

And it was amazing. His light was so dim, so very, very dim. Incredible. He had somehow _survived_ but he was fading into the dark. She cupped his face. “Solas. It worked, Solas. Now the Elders cannot harm them anymore. I will take care of the rest, my friend.”

She almost choked when his eyes opened.

They were so faint. “Ghilan’nain,” he whispered. “I am so tired…”

“Sleep, my friend. You’ve done your part.” 

She kept staring at him, seeing the strange sky reflected in his eyes. She was certain he would fade completely. But…he didn’t. He didn’t die. He kept there, as if treading water, but he did not wake either. Incredible. He had somehow gone into the Uthenera instead.

She stared at him. They had planned for his death and, at the very small chance, his life. But not this. Incredible. If she could have told anyone, they would never have believed it. Unlocking two orbs and creating the _Veil_ hadn’t killed him. Amazing.

She had to think quickly—those in the Sleep couldn’t protect themselves or care for their bodies. If the Elders were ever freed and found out that he had somehow lived…they _would_ kill him.

She got up, grabbing his gear and the pack and his orb. He had left it for her. She rolled it up into her pack and grabbed a handful of snow. 

She tried to immediately melt it—

But it didn’t. 

She stared at it. Her magic felt so strange now. It took several tries to create a tiny flame—but at least it came a little easier each time. Finally, she created enough water to pour it in a circle on the ground and then invoked it, charging it with as much magic as she could. The surface rippled like liquid silver, showing her one of her smallest temples. She pulled Solas to her, holding onto him and slipped into the circle of silver. 

She fell through and staggered out of a silver mirror. 

One of the monks started violently at her sudden presence, running to her to help support Solas. “My lady! What has happened! The City has descended into madness.”

“Prepare a dreaming chamber for Fen’Harel,” she said instead, ignoring his question.

It was done, deep underground, protected by hundreds of runes and layers of magic. And there, she laid him on a slab of stone, covered in straw. She bundled her cloak under his head and laid his own over him. She sealed his orb inside a small box that she placed under his body, inside the slab of stone. 

“With any luck, he will enter Perfection but until we know—every full moon, paint his lips with the honey and herbs and water.”

“Will he ever wake, my lady?”

Ghilan’nain touched his hair. “I don’t know.”

She stayed with him as long as she could. She wrote down what had occurred in detail, observing the Veil and how it was interacting with the wards they had placed and with the People as chaos overtook them in the aftermath.

Finally, she could wait no longer. She had to try to get Falon’Din’s orb while the remaining nobility fought each other. She left her accounts in the same small encasement as his Orb.

But she never returned. And he would never know what became of her when he woke a thousand years later. He read her accounts, her notes, her shock at his survival and her desperation to keep him hidden. But after Falon’Din. Nothing. She’d gone to Falon’Din’s temple—and had not returned.

 

 

 

Eckona, Cole, Sera and Victor approached the peninsula from the southeast. 

“There’s got to be ones already watching us,” Sera said.

“Yes,” Cole murmured. “There are many in the forest. They know we’re here. They run to tell him.”

Eckona’s heart was pounding. Seeing him again. After all this time. After everything that had happened. 

“Take it easy, Ecks,” Sera said, feeling how fragmented the other elf was, how conflicted. She looked at Victor. “Probably best for you to just keep quiet, no matter who we run into. Not to burst your bubble or anything—but I don’t think this will go good, yeah?”

“Seemed likely,” Victor said. 

When they reached the peninsula, a band of elves were waiting for them. They were all dressed plainly, with no banner, but had matching surcoats in a rich blue.

One stepped forward and bowed. “My lady, Eckona Lavellan. Lord _Fen’Hahren_ awaits.”

“The Wise Wolf?” Sera scoffed. “Have you _met_ him?”

“Sera,” Eckona said softly, watching how their eyes narrowed.

She huffed. “Fine. Whatever.”

“You are a human,” one of the elves said to Victor. “You may approach the keep, but you will not enter.”

“Actually, that’s probably a good idea,” Eckona said. “Just in case…you know.”

Victor nodded and lifted his hands. He surrendered his knives. 

“Are you the spirit, Cole?” asked the captain.

“I am,” he answered.

“You may enter the keep.”

“Thank you,” Cole said politely.

For some reason, that made Eckona chuckle.

Three of the elves stayed outside the gates with Victor. The rest walked on either side of Eckona, Sera and Cole. Entering into the Keep was surreal.

“Holy shit,” Sera breathed.

“I’ve never seen so many elves in one place,” Eckona murmured, staring around at the small city that had grown to bursting inside the gates. The people stared curiously at the small procession. The main keep was visible from the lower gates, a shining ruin made whole again, not unlike Skyhold.

The magic in the air was heavy as they entered the hold. The doors were massive oak and obsidian. Eckona tried to calm her heart, it was pounding again. Her hands had gone clammy and cold. This was the moment she’d spent the last three years getting to. Now that it had finally arrived, she felt sick.

They were escorted up flights of stairs, passing all manner of elves. Finally, they stopped in a drawing room.

“Fen’Harel wishes to speak to Lady Lavellan first,” said one of the elves.

“Right then,” said Sera. “Let’s go see this pisshead.” 

“He wishes to see her alone.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Sera snapped at the guard.

“It’ll be all right, Sera.” She looked at the guard, despite Sera shaking her head. “They won’t be harmed?”

“No, my lady. He has forbidden it.”

Eckona looked at Sera and Cole. “You two have been good friends to me. Thank you for coming all this way with me.”

“You should not be meeting him alone. He’ll try to manipulate you.”

Cole reached out and touched her sleeve. But he didn’t say anything, he just looked at her mournfully.

Eckona embraced each of them.

“I don’t like this—it feels like you’re leaving to go die. This is a trap. It has to be a friggin trap.”

Eckona left with the guard. 

Sera wanted to throw things. And she might have, when the door closed. But there were elves outside, guarding it so they could not leave.

And a door that was apparently a secret opened up in a section of bookshelves. 

Sera started in surprise. “Fucking piss. _Minaeve?_ ”

“Yes, it is me. Come, quickly.”

"What are _you_ doing here!" Sera exclaimed, jumping up to follow her through the hidden door with Cole.

"I was captured and brought here. Solas recognized me so he wanted me to stay. Then he asked me to do research for him. I suggested bringing the Inquisitor here--I told him to show her something she would not be able to resist. I know he doesn't want all this. And he showed her his guilt, I think--and his remorse. I told him to act it--but I knew he wouldn't be able to do it without revealing it was the truth."

"You brought her here to break his resolve," Cole said.

"Yes. I am an alchemist, after all. Like the research I did for the Inquisition on dangerous beasts. I saw how he reacted to things and then I..."

"Used it against him," Cole finished.

Sera stared at Minaeve as if she'd never quite seen her before. "You're surprisingly sneaky, you know that? Ever thought about becoming one of my Friends?"

"Maybe later. For now--I can take you to his study by the secret passages."

 

 

 

The guard led her to a large set of doors. “This is my lord’s wing of study, my lady.” She opened one of the doors. “Please enter.”

Eckona took a deep breath and stepped inside.

The door closed behind her.

The foyer was empty, stained glass throwing colors all over as she walked deeper into the wing. The hallway branched to a few ajar doors and then a massive observatory at the end. It opened up into a wall of glass and silverite. Sunlight beamed down onto a table of papers, notes and books. Small tools, an astrarium, an astrolabe and several armillary spheres winked and glimmered in the light. A dark eluvian was leaning against the western wall.

She walked around a massive pillar, covered in diagrams and carvings of stars, small drawings of magic circles and hundreds of calculations. She skimmed her fingers over them, feeling all the dedication, determination and drive that had gone into them. 

And then she smelled spidermums. On the other side of the pillar, standing in front of one of the windows, was Fen’Harel.

The two of them stared at each other.

“ _Vhenan_ ,” he said softly. “You survived…”

“Yes,” she answered softly. “I did.”

“I wondered if I’d…simply conjured you in my dreams.”

“You didn’t,” she said faintly. “I’m here.”

He took a step forward. “You…expect this is a trap?”

“Yes,” she said, stilling as he stepped closer.

“And yet, you came anyway.”

She smiled faintly. “Could never resist a challenge.”

“Sera…is she with you?”

“Yes.”

“Her magic manifested?”

“It did. In Tevinter. She manifested to save our lives.”

His blue steel eyes bore down into her. She was now within arm’s reach. “You hair has grown to your neck.” He reached out, carefully touching a few of the strands. 

“Solas,” she said softly. 

“Don’t—I should reveal my trap, right?”

She smiled sadly. “Just let Sera and Cole go. And Victor too.”

“Sera will be invited to stay.” He half-smiled, seeing how she lifted her eyebrows. “I know. But she will be invited. If she declines, then she can leave, of course.”

“Was the plan to kill me when I got here? So you wouldn’t have…even an unknowing rival?”

“I wanted to ask you some things first.”

“You know I won’t answer, Solas. I won’t betray them.”

“I know. But I _will_ ask. If only to buy time.” 

“Solas….you don’t have to do this. You _know_ there are other ways. I can help you.”

He smiled sadly. “I knew you would try this, regardless. But it’s still difficult to refuse. But I do refuse. It’s too late for me. I’m becoming like _them_.”

“Do you want me to kill you?”

“Could you actually do it?”

She gritted her teeth, smiling bitterly. “I don’t know. I had to come here to try, at least, just in case you were telling the truth. It was better to expect the lie. Sera was furious with me.”

“When wasn’t she?”

She laughed a little. “True. But…she is a true friend. Her brand of caring is just extremely fierce. And usually violent. You should see how she’s warmed up to Cole.”

Something in his eyes softened. “How is Cole?”

“He’s….the same as ever,” she answered. “Speaking in riddles and making the new people we meet really awkward when he introduces himself by reading their minds. It’s a good ice breaker, anyway.”

“Your magic has expanded,” he said, reaching out slowly to touch her hair again. “It feels…strange.”

“Probably the necromancy that Dorian was teaching me.”

“Necromancy,” he said, eyebrows lifting. “Truly?”

She laughed softly. “He knew you wouldn’t like that. But he was able to warp it to suppress my Mark when it was acting up.”

“Where is Dorian? I expected him to be with you.”

“I don’t know where he is. The last time I saw any of them was in Nessum when the Veil fell.”

“In southern Tevinter?”

“Yes. Not so far from here, really.”

He hesitated. “What was it like there?”

Her eyes hardened a little, smile falling away. “Terrible. It was terrible. Many have died, Solas. Hundreds—thousands, probably, if Nessum is any indicator of what the rest of Thedas has suffered.”

He looked away.

“Solas—“

“You don’t understand!” he suddenly burst out. “You will never understand. You cannot know the suffering the Elders caused. Even if I told you, it would never be enough.”

“So the answer to their suffering is to create _more_ suffering? Mostly on our human brethren.”

“Our brethren? Do you believe that any _human_ would stand with us to have stopped them?”

“Did you _try_?” she raised her eyebrows.

“They would never have trusted me.”

“Well, if this is your response to a thousand year old slight against Mythal, I guess you cannot really be predicted in your reactions. Do you blame them for being afraid of someone with so much power? Or do you blame the god who terrifies them?”

“I’m not a god.”

“To them, you were. We should be judged by how we treat those with less power than us, not by how we treat our equals.”

“If the world were perfect, that would be easy.”

“Nothing worth having is easily had.”

He shook his head. “You are so young.”

“You are so old. Do you truly not see that? Or is it just a reminder of how you treated the Dalish and city elves after you awoke?”

“As if I were the only one with contempt?”

“They called you _flat-ear_ so your response was to deny them the knowledge and truth about their _gods_ and their _history_? Does _that_ sound fair to you?”

“I had woken from a thousand years of sleep! Everything was new, everything was….was different. I reacted. Badly. Yes. All I had was a last account from Ghilan’nain and her guardians, none of which remained. And now,” he gestured at large to the windows, “now, I’ve done something that I can’t take back. So, do your duty, Inquisitor. Do what you came to do.” He stepped into her, backing her into the wide marble pillar. His hands went to her face, cupping the back of her head. “You made it all too real. You were real. They were real. And like the Elders did to the elves beneath them, I disdained you all. I was frightened—of you, especially. You were….” His eyes searched her face, almost like he was seeing something else. “You should have been the lantern in the dark. Instead, I tried to snuff you out.”

He knelt down in front of her. “Take your blade, Inquisitor. Before I come to my senses.”

Eckona stared down at him. “You…you…” She drew one of her knives, swallowing hard. “You’re an asshole for making me be the one to do this.”

“If I am going to die—I would not be alone.”

“You don’t _have_ to be, you idiot!”

“No one in their right mind would let me live after everything I’ve done.”

She fought back the tremor in her hands, the shake in her breath, as she positioned the blade against his throat. “Fen’Harel…”

Something in his eyes broke apart. “Is that who I am to you, now?”

She ran her fingers through his hair. “Solas was kind, pragmatic, noble. Solas was sometimes a little arrogant, sometimes didn’t think about the things he said and who he might hurt but Solas cared deeply and loved much. Fen’Harel smells sweet like spidermums….but he is not Solas. Fen’Harel dies alone.”

He stared at her, eyes narrowing “Am I not real then?”

She adjusted her grip on her dirk. “…..no, my friend.”

Something in that seemed to wound him and suddenly he was jumping up, batting her dirk aside. His hand went around her throat and he _slammed_ her into the pillar. The sun glittered over his shoulder, green and gold and black.

“Can you do it?” she asked him, raising her jaw, eyes narrowing at him. “Can you kill me? That will be the real test, won’t it? How far have you fallen?”

His grip tightened, eyes burning. The smell of flowers intensified. “You presumptive….you—“

The door opened. 

“My lord—“ Minaeve cut herself off and swung to the side.

Sera loosed an arrow. Cole vanished from her side. 

Fen’Harel raised his free hand, throwing a barrier up. The arrow slammed into it and turned to ash. And then Cole appeared in front of him, wrapping his fingers around the elf’s wrist. “Cole…” he said softly.

“Let her go. You know you don’t want to hurt her. You know you _can’t_. You love her as much as she loves you.”

Fen’Harel’s eyes turned to stone. “Step away, Cole. I do not wish you harmed.”

The spirit did not move, grip tightening on Fen’Harel’s wrist. “You have already lost so much. If you kill her, everything will be gone.”

“Step _away_ , Cole.”

Sera had another arrow strung to her bow, circling Fen’Harel. “Move, Creepy. I’ll put an arrow in his stupid head.”

Cole did not move. He was staring into Fen’Harel’s face. It had been a very, very long time since Eckona had seen that expression. A long time since that moment when Cole discovered the Templar who had killed the real Cole.

_I have to kill him back!_

“I need Solas back. If Fen’Harel must die to get Solas back, then I will _kill_ him.”

“C-Cole—you, wait—“ Eckona started.

“This will do no good, Cole. Step away.” Fen’Harel commanded again.

“No.”

Fen’Harel’s eyes narrowed, full of blue steel and he grabbed onto Cole’s amulet with his free hand and _pulsed_.

Eckona cried out in horror. “No! You would never—“

Fen’Harel tried to _bind_ him, destroying the amulet with a thought and grabbing into the spirit, overriding his will.

“Creepy!” Sera burst out and she loosed another arrow. This one slammed into Fen’Harel’s back, ripping into his ribcage, just to the left of his spine.

But neither moved, the elf or the spirit. 

Fen’Harel stared at him. “You….have become more human.”

“You cannot bind me.” And then something sadder entered his eyes. “Solas would never have tried to bind me. You are _not_ Solas.” And then he stabbed Fen’Harel.

Eckona cried out, his grip loosening on her throat and she stepped forward to grab him. Fen’Harel staggered against her.

Then there was a strange sound, a warp of magic and the eluvian flashed on the other side of the room. A woman with ink-dark hair, woven with seashells and lilies, stepped through the mirror. She was dragging something behind her, another elf, who she threw into the room. The elf was male, with dark hair and dark eyes.

“June,” Fen’Harel said softly.

Behind them, another elf stepped through, robed in black and silver.

“Do you know how long I’ve had to wait, Fen’Harel?” Sylaise asked. Her eyebrows raised. “I see Dirth and I arrived second. How many people wish to kill you, Fen’Harel?” She kicked at the elf on the floor. “June was going to waste away in the tomb you imprisoned him in. I—“ And then she paused, staring at Eckona. “How _nice_ for you, Fen’Harel—did you plan to use her as a vessel when you find Ghilan’nain?”

Fen’Harel jerked, straightening up. “What?”

Sylaise smiled. “No—can it be? The sneak, Fen’Harel doesn’t _know_?”

Dirthamen laughed.

“Solas,” June croaked. “Solas—Ghilan’nain is…she is alive, Solas.”

Everything in his face fell away, eyes widening. “She….died at Falon’Din’s temple.”

June tried to push himself up, ragged and shaking. “Elgar’nan…he—“

Sylaise stretched her fingers out. “Oh, this will be too good.” White light flashed over June and the elf crumpled. 

Something flared inside of Fen’Harel, something boiling hot, steaming with _rage_. “June….”

“He feels remorse,” Cole said, looking at June. “Let him go.”

“No,” Dirthamen answered. “And quiet yourself, spirit.” He stalked up to Fen’Harel, looking at the arrow in his back and the knife in his gut. “Going to let yourself die, Fen’Harel? You always were a _coward_.”

His wounds began to steam, smoking and burning. The scent of spidermums faded, something sharper cutting through the air. He straightened, putting a hand on Eckona’s back, protective and stepping away from her, urging her towards Cole.

“Oh, he is angry,” Sylaise tittered. “Were you as angry as me when I woke a few weeks ago and found the world in ruins? Did you know that my sister, Andruil, is dead? That Elgar’nan is dead. That Falon’Din was butchered in his own temple. I’m sure you’re very pleased. We killed Mythal and now, one by one, we die. Either at your hands, or at theirs.” She nodded towards Eckona. “These mortals are certainly a cockier breed than we knew, aren’t they?”

“You should be grateful—do you know how long they questioned Ghilan’nain as to your whereabouts? She refused to give you up, even when Elgar’nan burned out her eyes.”

The room darkened. Sera exchanged a look with Cole. The spirit grabbed Eckona’s arm to pull her away.

“No—Cole—he’s—“

Cole shook his head, pulling Eckona away from the four old gods. The sun was still shining, the walls were still glass but the room was getting darker, darker, darker. 

Sylaise flared with light. “So now, no more tricks, Fen’Harel? No more underhanded deeds? No more quiet kills in the night? Have you done enough? Only Elgar’nan was strong enough to take an avatar here. When he found Ghilan’nain in Falon’Din’s temple, goodness—you should have seen the look on her face. I don’t believe she knew he was still around. Mythal dead, all of us trapped—even you were dead, so we thought. Elgar’nan took her back to his temple. She certainly had a will of iron for one who appeared so soft. It must be maddening, knowing you’ve been back for—what? Four years? And she’s been alive the whole time.”

June stirred on the floor. “S-Solas…you have to….go. They…they have—“

Sylaise reached out, extending her hand again. “I was so lucky to find June in the Crossroads. I don’t know how he activated the eluvian in his prison—but it hardly matters now. I used him to draw Dirthamen to me and we forced a few of the mirrors open. Were it just me, I would not risk coming here so soon. But, the essence of old creators, old gods—apparently, we can simply absorb it. Who knew?” She flexed, forming the Fade into a siphon, slamming it into June to extract, to pull, to force him out of himself—

An arrow slammed into her lower arm.

Sylaise stopped, staring at it like she’d never seen one before. Her eyes turned slowly. “Can’t trust a mortal, even when you threaten their enemies?”

Sera scoffed. “This might be a stretch, but you seem like an even bigger fuckbucket than him.”

Solas flashed in front of Sylaise, slamming into her. She was blasted back against the glass wall. It burst, shattering into pieces. Dirthamen whirled around, pulling into the Fade—

Eckona jumped at him, streaking across the room and slamming her dirk into him. He was turning in a flash, backhanding her to the ground. Cole dashed like lightning, whirling around the elf, ripping into his side. Sera snapped the Fade around her, blurring to the opposite side of the room, firing arrows until she could get close enough to June to grab him by the arm. She hefted him onto her shoulder and ran for the door, shoving him into Minaeve, who was crouching as small as she could near the entrance. The gentle alchemist grabbed June, holding him to her for lack of anything else she could do for him.

Solas had created an incredible shield of light in his hand, bashing it into Sylaise. The ancient elf whirled around him, robes snapping with energy.

“Do you even know what happened to Ghilan’nain’s orb? Did you know Dirth put her power to create into it—hoping to find out how she created the dragons? But all he could make were what the mortals call Archdemons. Funny how we all took on such strange roles in their religions. A hunter took Ghilan’nain’s eyes? Ha! Andruil would have killed her—if she’d had an avatar. But she didn’t. So she couldn’t.”

“ _Shut up!_ ” Solas commanded, flipping around one of the tables, smashing his foot into Sylaise’s chest. 

“Don’t you want to be Fen’Harel? You don’t want to be Solas anymore? How sad for you. Maybe you really should just join the dead. You’ve no place among the _living_ \--” She cast a glowing red net, burning with poison and fire and death, dragging it over Solas, pulling the Wolf towards her. 

Dirthamen pulled out two wicked obsidian blades to lock with Cole’s. He slashed one through the air, cutting one of Sera’s arrows in half, whirling around Cole to deal Eckona a savage kick that sent her skidding across the observatory. The elf came to a ragged stop, clutching her chest and coughing. She jumped up, staggering and then Dirthamen had her by the hair, slamming Eckona face-first into the pillar and then throwing her. She smashed into the remaining glass windows, going through them—

Solas pivoted—the moment seemed entirely too long, watching her sail through a rain of glass and rolling in a heap onto the massive stone platform outside the observatory. Silver lightning flashed through his eyes and Sylaise’s net vanished. He stepped, firing across the observatory, outside. 

He reached her, kneeling beside her, throwing a cast of magic down to heal her. “Eckona? Eckona—“ He started to turn her over—

Sylaise appeared behind him, grabbing the back of his neck. Dirthamen appeared in front of him, sheathing his daggers and summoning Solas’ staff to himself. 

“You were always a fool for the lesser ones, Solas. Elgar’nan should have known better,” Sylaise drawled.

“Get back unless you want your insides on your outsides!” Sera commanded, pulling back on her bowstring as she stepped over broken glass.

Sylaise rolled her eyes and flicked her other hand, blasting Sera off her feet, driving her into a torn section of silverite framing. Her bow fell from her hands and she staggered, dazed. Cole caught her, lowering her gently. 

Dirthamen looked sidelong at the spirit. “You are curiously attached to these mortals, spirit.”

“Don’t harm him!” Solas started to get up but Sylaise gripped tight into the back of his neck. Solas lifted his hands. “Cole is a spirit of compassion—a gentle spirit. Do not harm him!”

“He was going to kill you, Solas.”

Something in his face broke. “I know. And he would have been right to. He…I did so much. To them, to this world…even to you—who once called me friend.”

Dirthamen looked back at Solas. “It’s a little late for regrets now, isn’t it?” He gestured up to the sky. “You’ve already done what can’t be reversed.”

Solas looked at Eckona, at Sera, at Cole. “No….” he said softly. “It’s….it’s not too late.”

“Stupid Solas…” Sera grunted in pain, holding her side as she struggled to stand. “You are so—stupid. We could have…she would have…hell, even I would have fucking _helped_ you.”

Solas looked at Sera and let his shoulders relax, letting his hands rest on Eckona’s back. “Sera…I…I’m sorry...”

“Sorry doesn’t fucking _cut_ it this time, you know? I mean, I forgave Blackwall when he pretended to be someone else, yeah? And Varric, when he lied about Hawke. And Vivienne—sort of—every time she was a bitch. But stupid Solas has us running at our wits end for three years, cutting off Eck’s arm like a side of beef, playing to your little tune…and now we’ve come all this way—and a couple of _your_ bloody pisscock friends are just going to kill us _and_ you? And for what? There’s no fucking elven empire anymore! We lost! No point in dragging on! Move on! All three of you are stupid! None of you ever found Abelas! If he can go three years without causing anyone any trouble—why can’t you pissers? You call the humans short-sighted and brutish? You know what _you_ all seem like? Like those are _your_ bad traits and you just want to blame someone else for being a bunch of selfish bastards! It’s a little too late for _sorry_ except that I’m _sorry_ that I thought you’d be different!”

“It’s also a little too late to pretend you aren’t going to _fight_ , Fen’Harel.” Dirthamen vanished, reappearing behind Cole and punching his daggers into him.

“No, don’t—!”

Cole stiffened. “You….can’t hurt me….” He said softly, blood bubbling up between his teeth.

“Creepy!” Sera burst, magic exploding everywhere, flashing to Dirthamen and grabbing into him. She flipped backwards, slamming the ancient into the stone. “You fucking pisser son of a bitch fucking hate _all of you_ fucking shit shit dammit crapfucker arsebiscuit!” Every word emphasized with a wet crunch, slamming his face into the stone over and over, until it was matted with blood and bits of hair. Blood splattered her hands and arms and face, smearing hot, red droplets, rage building the more times that Dirthamen’s nose cracked against the stone.

Sylaise blinked in surprise. The little nothing had _this_ kind of power? She was actually _suppressing_ Dirth. Amazing. She released Solas, flashing over to Sera, blasting her back with burning fire. The elf went head over heels, skidding on the stone. She drug herself to her feet. “I’ve about fucking had it!” She threw her quiver down, her gloves came off. “This is why I say, _fuck_ the ancient elves!” She went at Sylaise like a hurricane, smashing into the ancient alchemist.

Eckona was struggling to her feet. “Cole—something’s wrong with Cole—Cole!”

Solas grabbed her, helping her up, and they went running to the spirit. 

Cole was looking down at the knives in his chest. Blood was seeping out of him, dripping from his lips in a heavy stream like syrup, turning his body armor red. Solas grabbed him, easing the knives out of his back as gently as he could.

“Cole!” Eckona managed, staggering when his legs finally seemed to fail him and he fell into her arms. “Cole! No—not you. Cole!” She went to her knees, holding him to her. “Cole…”

Solas knelt to her, looking at him. He cast healing magic, flooding the spirit with it. “Please…not Cole…”

Of anyone. Not Cole.

Eckona pushed, channeling her remaining power to Solas, letting him direct it into the spirit.

“Can you continue?” Solas asked quietly.

Eckona looked up, meeting his eyes. She nodded and then fixated on Cole. 

Something snapped inside of him. Something dark and red and burning. He swept up to his feet, turning around as Sera grabbed a handful of Sylaise’s hair and bodily smashed her into the stone. Solas blasted forward. How odd it was, fighting beside the one who was the most unlike him in every respect. Yet, he and Sera moved seamlessly together. Their magic never burned each other, never crossed or got tangled. She was a blazing inferno of rage, he was controlled lightening. 

_Of course. When I was young, I was her._

Sera was his reflection. Solas was her shadow.

They fed off each other, power swelling as they cornered Sylaise between them.

Sylaise went spinning through the air. She grabbed onto Dirthamen when she landed near him and rolled him over. He was still alive. Perfect. She grabbed his face and _pulsed_. Everything that remained in him flooded out of him and she absorbed it. And then something caught her eye. She shoved her hand into Dirthamen’s pocket and pulled out an Orb. Sylaise laughed, which brought Solas and Sera skidding to a halt.

Sylaise, covered in blood and spitting rage, stood up, smiling. “Who would have thought? He _still_ had her orb. He was _so_ desperate to know how she created the dragons.”

She threw the orb in front of her, catching it in her magic, unlocking it with a flash of power. 

And then something in her hands rippled. She snarled, fighting it—and then the orb shattered apart.

“No more.”

Sylaise jerked her eyes back to the observatory. Outside of it, standing in glass, was Ghilan’nain.

“ _You!_ ” Sylaise snarled. 

“Sylaise,” said Ghilan’nain, flanked by Cassandra and Cullen, both with swords drawn. 

Dorian eased down next to Eckona with Rainier’s help, flooding Cole with magic. Arlath stood in front of them, battle axe drawn at ready. 

“You little bitch….” Sylaise narrowed her eyes, raising her palm.

The blind elf reached out, snatching her in an invisible grip. She stepped forward, barefoot, on broken glass and stone. She did not seem to notice it, dragging Sylaise to her.

“You took Elgar’nan and Falon’Din…you…and—and Andruil! You—I’ll _kill_ you! I’ll—“

Ghilan’nain closed her palm into a fist. Sylaise's heart burst and the elf dropped like a stone.

The spirit, Leisel, walked amidst them and was almost automatically drawn to Cole. “He is hurt,” she said softly.

“He’s dying,” Dorian said, frantically looking back at Varric.

The dwarf hurried forward. “Can’t we-- _do_ something! Kid? Kid! We—don’t we have more magic around here?” 

Liesel looked down at her palms for a long moment. “It would,” she said, softly, to no one. She looked at Eckona. “June wishes to save him. He is in the observatory with one called Minaeve.”

Eckona looked at her, glancing at Dorian.

“She’s like Cole. A spirit.”

“I’ll get him,” Rainier said and whirled around, running back into the observatory and returning in a flash, carrying June with Minaeve hurrying along behind them.

The man put June beside them. The elf breathed raggedly. “The boy…I heard him in my head…he, he is…kindness…he…let me do at least one good thing….” 

Leisel reached out to him. “You are forgiven, go peacefully to your rest.” 

June stiffened and then went limp, falling back against Minaeve and Rainier with a long sigh. Liesel touched Cole and whatever she had taken from June went into him. 

Cole’s eyes opened and he took a rough breath. “You can’t….you can’t hurt me…” he murmured.

“No, we won’t hurt you,” Liesel told him and then her head tilted to the side. “You are compassion.”

Cole looked at her and then mirrored her head-tilt. “You are mercy.”

“Mercy, this is our friend, Compassion.” Varric said. “Compassion, this is Mercy. Er, or, Liesel, this is Cole. Cole, this is Liesel.”

“Hello,” Liesel told him.

“Hello,” he replied. 

She helped him sit up. “You were much wounded. Your friends tried so hard to save you. You mean a lot to them.”

“I like them too.”

“June is one of the ancient elves but he wanted to save you.”

Cole looked at the elf. “There was good in him. He wanted to change.”

“He did.” 

“Sera, are you all right?” Cassandra called to the elf.

Sera looked sidelong at Solas before edging a few steps away. “Not sure, yet. What’s this pisser gonna do?”

Ghilan’nain’s ear moved, sightless eyes to the ground. “Solas?”

Solas trembled, staring at her. “Ghilan’nain….”

She reached out and Anock came to her side immediately, gently leading her across the broken glass.

Eckona stood up. “Wha—who is that?” She started forward but Arlath grabbed her shoulder.

“She’s the one we saw in the Fade at Dirthamen’s temple. Do you remember?” Dorian said.

Eckona stiffened. It _was_ her.

Solas went to the woman. “I thought you were dead.”

“And I, you,” she said softly. She reached out, feeling Anock back away from them, and gently touched Solas’ robes. “Not Fen’Harel—Solas. Like a spirit, you made a choice. Pepper and metal suited you better than spidermums.”

“Ghilan’nain…” he touched her face, watched her move into his touch. 

“Our time is over, Solas.”

He stared down at her helplessly. “I…I have caused….so much death and chaos. I…”

“I have taken Elgar’nan, Andruil and Falon’Din. Take what remains from Sylaise and June. We can still help.”

Solas looked over at the dead elves. He reached out his palm and whatever remained of them drained out and siphoned into him. “Sylaise took Dirthamen at the end. So Sylaise, Dirthamen, June and Mythal.”

“And you and I make eight and nine, my friend.”

“S-Solas?” 

Ghilan’nain turned her ear again. “Is that Eckona? Please, come here. I would like to meet you.”

Eckona circled carefully, looking at the beautiful elf. Her hair of shining white with a band of black silk tied over where her eyes should be. She looked at Solas.

“Lady Eckona?” asked the woman, reaching out.

Eckona let the elf take her hands. “Who…who are you?”

“I am Ghilan’nain, the Guide. I helped Solas lock away the Elders when he created the Veil. It was intended that we would do it together but I had magic stolen from me by Dirthamen and he had to do it alone. The others have told me of your deeds. You looked after my friend when he was with you.”

Eckona felt something in her slide away. _Oh…._

Ghilan’nain smiled gently. “I know what you see—and at one time, you may have been right. It’s a compliment to him, I suppose. Solas was always difficult and a touch arrogant.”

Eckona startled on a small laugh. “Yes…he was.”

“Those drawn to him had to be able to put up with that and temper it, without encouraging it.”

Eckona smiled sadly at Ghilan’nain’s delicate, graceful hands. 

“They say you have white hair like I do.”

“I do, my lady. My brother and I both do.”

Ghilan’nain reached up, gently touching Eckona’s hair. “Don’t worry. You weren’t a replacement for me. Our hair might match but other things don’t. You curse a great deal more, I think.”

Solas started a little, unable to fight a small smile. “She’s right about that.”

Eckona looked between them. A lump was forming in her throat, trying hard to swallow passed it. 

“Is Anock your brother? He feels similar to you. He has been helping me see without complaint. Even when I am very slow.”

“Yes, he’s my brother.”

“There is great sadness there. I understand.” Ghilan’nain reached up to remove the silk from her eyes. If she heard Eckona’s quiet gasp, she did not show it. “Solas and I have been through many things, together and separately. And now, at the end, I find him here—do you know what we must do?”

Eckona looked at Solas and closed her eyes.

“I feel your pain, my friend,” Ghilan’nain said softly. “I can feel how deeply you care for him. Know that he cares for you the same. But now we must finish what we began a thousand years ago.”

“But the Veil…”

“Anything that was, and now is not, can be again. Solas and I can impart our knowledge in other ways.”

“But…if you’re….if you’re dead…”

Ghilan’nain smiled. “That will happen eventually. But for now…” she turned her face to Liesel.

The spirit stood and she offered Cole her hand. The two of them looked at each other for a long moment.

“I understand,” Cole said and he nodded. “I will do it. You’ll come with me?”

Liesel nodded. “I will. We’ll be friends.”

Eckona looked at Cole and Liesel. “W-wait…what do you…”

Ghilan’nain embraced her like they were sisters. “Thank you for helping him. He didn’t slip into complete madness, thanks to you.” She drew back.

Eckona looked up at Solas. She hesitated. “S-Solas…what are you—“

He pulled her tight to him, wrapping her in his arms tightly and burying his nose in her hair. “I’m sorry for everything. For everything, _vhenan._ ” He kissed her forehead. “I’m ready now, for this last journey. My friend will guide me and now, you must endure.”

Her breath caught. “Solas…”

He looked at Ghilan’nain and took her hand. The two of them turned as one, facing Cole and Liesel, who also grasped hands.

The spirits reached out. Cole put his palm on Solas’ chest and Liesel touched Ghilan’nain.

“The Guide and the Wolf, on the night path together, you’re safe,” Liesel said softly.

“I’m glad to have met you all,” Ghilan’nain said, nodding especially to Cassandra. “Never falter, Faith. Your path is hard but your will is Truth.”

Cassandra bowed her head to the elf.

“You’re free,” Cole said.

“Thank you, my friend. We will walk the Fade together one day,” Solas replied.

“I hope so,” Cole responded.

Solas took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

 _Wait…_ Eckona clamped her hand over her mouth so she wouldn’t speak the word. 

Ghilan’nain’s face tilted up towards the sky. A glow began where her eyes had once been, they sparked and crackled and burst with gold. Solas followed. Eckona felt how they flowed into each other, so in sync, so balanced. Grace and pride, melding together as one. 

There was a blast of power and then a shockwave threw everyone back. The whole peninsula rocked on its foundations. When Eckona lowered her arms from the flash, she saw what she both expected and feared.

The two elves lay on the ground, together. Lifeless. Cole and Liesel stood over them, hands still clasped. 

“The sky!” Rainier cried out.

It had returned to crystalline blue.

“It is thinner,” Dorian confirmed, “and it feels different but the Veil is there.”

Eckona barely heard it. She took steps forward, feeling like molasses, forcing herself to move. She fell to her knees beside them and reached out, gently touching Solas’ long, dark hair. “I still couldn’t save him.” She stared down at him, unable to hold back the tears. 

Cole touched her shoulder. “You did. You believed in him right to the end. He’s here now.” 

She looked up, Cole was touching his chest. “What do you mean?”

“I took them away from their bodies,” Liesel said. “They’re in us now. I have Ghilan’nain and Cole has Solas. We will take care of them until they go to the Deep Fade.”

“They were ready,” Cole told her, sadly. “No one can live so long without succumbing to madness eventually. The world is too sad. That’s why it’s better for no one to be immortal. No one should be that sad.”

“Within us, they’re at peace.”

“And they can’t hurt anyone anymore. Like Rhys did for me.”

Eckona looked at both them and then at the bodies. “Thank you,” she whispered and then she bowed her head and sobbed.


	34. Safe Journey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Be safe on the Night Path, go swiftly on your journey.
> 
> \---
> 
> Notes at the bottom! :)

When Eckona opened her eyes, she found herself curled up amidst blankets and quilts and a nest of pillows. Anock was sitting by the bed in an armchair, chin resting on his chest. He was asleep.

She stared at her brother for a long moment. She was vaguely aware that he'd helped her here. Wherever here was. She shifted, silencing a soft sound as all her muscles protested. Going through the window had done a number on her. Her back, hips and right leg were a mass of black and purple bruises. The initial impact had broken her leg and shoulder--it was lucky that Solas had intervened so quickly with healing magic...

Solas...

She curled up around a pillow, breathing into it slowly. He was gone, with Ghilan'nain. He was at peace now. After all the fighting and death and long days and nights on the road...it was finally done. The initial loss had been sharp and she had stayed by the two elves for a long time, crying herself to exhaustion. But now, things felt better. He was at peace now. That was what mattered. Ghilan'nain was graceful and kind, a balm to his sharpness. And meeting her had explained why he'd refused to involve Eckona in what he'd planned to do.

The door opened quietly, making her look up from the pillow. Dorian was leaning on a crutch as he hobbled in. She blinked and started to push herself up but the mage held out a hand and smiled. He made his way to the bed and sat on the edge.

"What happened?" she asked quietly.

"Elgar'nan happened, unfortunately. Not even magic could totally repair the damage."

"Will you regain full use eventually?"

"I don't know--perhaps. My legs were completely crushed, ha. It was very heroic." He smiled. "Oh, don't look so distraught. It was worth it. How many can say they pickpocketed a god and lived?"

She smiled gently at him. "You're a good man, Dorian. If you weren't into men, I'd have you at _least_ every weekend."

That made him laugh, which jolted Anock awake. Her brother jumped in the chair, grabbing into the arms.

"It's all right, Anock--it's just me." Dorian told him and began to gently turn down Eckona's blankets. "I need to check your bruises. They were bad last night, a little better this morning, a little more magic can't hurt."

Eckona peered at Anock. "You...seem different, Anock."

"Has no one told you--well, no, I suppose there wasn't time," Dorian said softly. He watched the mage.

Eckona followed Dorian's grey eyes to her brother's face.

"Elgar'nan...made me Tranquil."

Eckona started, staring at him in horror. " _What?!_ "

"We're all right but me, Tam, Cullen and Iron Bull--he made us all Tranquil. Liesel woke us up again but....it was...it was strange afterwards. Things felt...different."

Eckona laid back on the nest of pillows again. She put a hand on her forehead. "Cullen--is he all right? Are they--"

"They're all right. Cullen, I've heard, no longer has any connection to lyrium. So that's good. I believe he's something more like a Seeker now. As is Iron Bull. Those two had no magic previous--but now they have some interesting abilities that Cassandra is helping them uncover. Tam has not tried any magic since then--I think she is afraid to see how it might be affected. And Anock, well..." Dorian looked at him.

"I tried a few small spells--healing mostly--they still seemed to work. Cassandra is having us all write down what happened and how it effects our magic."

"I'm done. I'm so done," Eckona murmured softly, covering her eyes. "I've had enough of this hero business."

"You've done enough for a couple of them, I think. And now the Veil is repaired--"

"Oh _shit_ \--the Veil!" Eckona jerked up and then grabbed her ribs, grunting. 

"It's all right," Anock got up to help her ease back again. "We've kept an eye on it. It's different now. Varric is still having dreams. I suppose Solas and Ghilan'nain changed it--since they had the chance to redo it with full control. Splitting seven near-gods between them, even weaker as they were, was enough power to do it. It could be we'll start seeing dwarven mages now."

"We will find out soon enough if the Fade has changed," Dorian added. "None of us have entered yet--I thought perhaps we should give the Fade a chance to settle down before we all break in and start poking about."

"Are we still on the peninsula?"

"Yes and Victor is here now too. The elves aren't quite sure what to make of what happened. I was certain they were going to attack us--but Tam, Arlath, Anock and Sera called everyone to a huge gathering this morning, where they explained what had happened, in full. Cole and Liesel went with them. We told them they could certainly stay--but the city's direction...well...Cassandra said we would ask you."

"They want to see you when you're ready. To prove that you're real," Anock told her.

"I suppose that shouldn't surprise me. Maybe I'll finally get that research...place that I've been wanting. We can't do it in Skyhold now--but out here might be nice. So long as we maintain autonomy. I suppose it'll depend on how Orlais and the rest react."

"They ought to give you the whole damn peninsula if you ask for it," Dorian huffed. "There's a _sky_ outside again. They owe you better. But, well, we all know how these silly things go. When you get bored with helping to educate the free elves of Thedas, you could always come to Tevinter. The change has been....truly incredible. And terrible, in some ways. And very fast," Dorian said as he pulled the last sheet down and lifted an eyebrow.

"Looks pretty bad?"

"Beautiful display of color, really. The purples and yellows truly compliment your paleness. Is this how elves attract a mate?"

Eckona snorted a laugh. "I'll let you know if you ever need someone to pretend to be your wife."

Dorian pointed at her. "I want that in writing. Just wait until Josephine gets here."

A knock on the door made Dorian pull one of the sheets up over her legs before he called an affirmation that it was all right to come in.

Cole peeked inside the door.

"Cole!" Eckona pushed herself to sit up. "Cole--are you all right?" 

The spirit entered. "Yes. I am...all right, Eckona. I heard you, awake, rolling around in your head." He walked over to them. “It still hurts, I know—but it’s not so sharp for now. He’s glad you’re all right.”

She looked at her hands. “Where are they now?”

“Cassandra and Arlath moved the bodies inside and wrapped them in linen. We thought we might…build pyres for them,” Dorian said slowly, gauging her reaction.

She only looked at him and nodded. “That would be good.”

“He left a gift for you. It’s here,” Cole told her.

“Is this his room?”

Dorian nodded, watching Cole get up and go right to a small silverite box, covered in engravings, that was sitting innocently in the corner of the room. There was a whisper of magic in his touch and then box clicked and opened. Cole removed a small soapstone statuette of a wolf. The spirit turned back, looking at the tiny canine and bringing it back to Eckona. 

The spirit sat at the edge of the bed again, offering the statue. 

She took it. It was strangely warm to the touch. The eyes flared and she was reminded, suddenly, of that strange temple in the Forbidden Oasis—where the shards had unlocked the spirit doors and greeted her with a touch. It flooded her mind for a moment and then, just as quickly, was gone.

She looked at her hand. The statue had vanished.

“What happened?” Anock asked.

She closed her eyes and twisted her hand in one of the sheets. “It was knowledge. One from him and one from Ghilan’nain. How the Eluvians are made….and how to speak ancient elvish. ”

“Well, that’ll make visiting you easier,” Dorian said, smiling gently.

“He knew I wanted to learn. And without Ghilan’nain…I suppose except for Morrigan—any knowledge on the Eluvians is probably lost.” She felt Cole shift, reaching up and scratching behind her ear like she was a dog. It made her chuckle. “Thank you, Cole.”

Anock smiled gently. “How about I send Sera and Cassandra in here—they can help you clean up. By that time, the sun will set and we can light the fires.”

Eckona nodded. “All right. Prepare your goodbye speeches,” she said, shaking her head a little, smiling crookedly. 

Anock got up, gently easing Dorian to his feet and helping the mage out of the room. Cole stayed an extra moment, looking at her. “I…I would like it if you…will you meet Liesel later?”

She blinked and looked at him. “I imagine—I remember…her showing up…she’s a spirit, like you?”

“She saved Cassandra and led them to Elgar’nan’s temple and saved Dorian and the others. She led them to Ghilan’nain. She has…brown hair. And…grey-green eyes, like mist on the Storm Coast,” Cole told her, as if checking a grocery list. “I did not realize….how….different I was when I first crossed out of the Fade. She….has a lot to learn. But—I want to teach her. She is my friend.”

“All right, Cole. If there’s anything I can do to help—let me know.”

“Maybe,” he said, twisting and fidgeting with his fingers again. “I can teach her…how to swim. And about clothes. And about food that’s good.”

“That’s an excellent place to start, Cole.”

“Will you teach her how to dance. When she. Is. More. More herself? Like me.”

“Well, it’ll be a combined effort. I had to ask Cullen to teach me. But yes, we can teach her.”

“I want to show her _music_ ,” Cole said brightly, smiling. He absently pushed his hair out of his eyes. “I like music.”

The door opened and Cassandra entered. “Come, Cole. Speak with her later. We must help her now.”

Liesel trailed in absently after Cassandra and Sera. She smiled when she saw Cole. The two of them touched. It was a little thing. She reached out, touching his shirt and then continued on into the room. Cole smiled and walked away.

“Spirits are so strange,” Cassandra told her. 

 

An hour later, they gathered on the wide balcony outside the observatory. Rainier and Arlath had built a wide pyre. Dorian had prepared their bodies for the fire. He’d cleaned them up, had them both dressed in the finest clothing he could find in the keep and rubbed their skin with perfumed oils. Cassandra put bundles of herb and incense on the pyre, as her uncle often had in the Necropolis. 

They all gathered around as Dorian arranged the bodies. Solas was in gold and blue. Ghilan’nain was in gold and green. Eckona carded her fingers through Solas’ hair and leaned down, letting their foreheads touch. “Thank you for everything you taught me, _hahren_. Find your peace on the Night Path, my friend. _Ar lath ma._ Go swiftly on your journey.” To Ghilan’nain, she murmured, “Thank you, for sharing your knowledge of the eluvians with me, _hahren_. Be safe on the Night Path, and go swiftly on your journey.”

Standing back after the others said their words was harder than she could have imagined. Iron Bull placed a single pawn down on the pyre next to Solas before he approached with a torch and lit the oil and kindling. The pyre smoked with heavy incense.

Eckona shook a little inside, covering her mouth with her hand. Their clothing caught and their bodies burned. Anock stood next to her, hesitating before he gently touched her shoulder. She closed her eyes and bowed her head as the fire reached grasping fingers into the night.

She stayed long after the fire went out, the torches mounted on the platform giving her shadows and eerie light until she could go to the pyre. Cole was the only one who remained. He watched her meticulously gather the ashes in an urn and then walk to the edge of the balcony. Below was several hundred feet of open air, then rocks and water. She poured the ashes from the urn into her hands. 

" _Dareth shiral, vhenan_ ," she said and held her palms up flat, letting the wind take hold of the ash.

 

 

 

Over the next few days, politics happened outside of the peninsula. Eckona was aware of very little of it. She went to the eluvian in the observatory and tested her power over it, changing its pathway from the Crossroads to Val Royeaux. 

Chantry forces had gone to Halamshiral, ostensibly putting the city under martial law until order could be restored. The royal family had been wiped out. King Alistair offered aid to Orlais, primarily through Leliana. The Council must be rebuilt…perhaps reformed. Leliana took handy control of that process as well, stubbornly progressive when the remaining nobility balked in fear. 

Cassandra went back with Cullen and Arlath so they could tell Leliana what had happened. Afterwards, Cullen found Tam and asked her if she might be interested in bailing on this whole political scene and traveling like nomads for awhile. She agreed and they left it all behind. Arlath stayed with Cassandra, even when Leliana appointed her to the new ruling Council of Orlais.

Vivienne fought tooth and nail to be a part of that Council, which Leliana allowed. She respected Vivienne’s skill and knowledge, her logic and perspective—and it would let Leliana keep an eye on her.

Briala returned as well, once they discovered her in the hold. She offered her services to Leliana, fully embracing her progressive stance.

Minrathous was now the first Free City of Tevinter. It was controlled by former-slaves. Dorian was invited back by the Council forming there, to assist in establishing a new government. Victor went with him. Though Dorian made Eckona swear to always keep a mirror open for him so he could escape the politics whenever he needed to. As it turned out, that was, apparently, a weekly occurrence. He would often come through unannounced to have hash, tea and frilly cakes with Eckona and Sera.

News from the Qun was only now starting to filter into the south. The one place where many assumed would be the most stable had crumbled when the sky fell. But with their established system of control—they were finally attempting to restore order. 

Rainier accompanied Josephine back to Antiva City, once it had stabilized. He went as her bodyguard and her friend, unwilling to simply hide behind the excuse of class differences anymore. He would not languish in the shadow of Blackwall or Captain Rainier. He would simply be Thom Rainier and he found that, once he tried to simply _be_ instead of attempting to play another role—he found that Thom didn’t really care any longer about social class and protocol. At least not when it came to Josephine. He’d seen too much to give a damn anymore about holding onto these fruitless insecurities. He was finally taking Varric’s advice after three years. He would run his own life, not let his life run him.

Varric—and other dwarves—were adjusting to being able to dream. A whole new branch of study of magic opened up as dwarven children began to manifest magic. The lyrium market collapsed as there were now very few who could mine it safely. The university of Orlais sponsored further study into the Rift mages and Fade-Keepers, who would slowly begin to uncover the secrets of pulling directly from the essence of the Fade. It was Solas’ specialty and the branch now topped all lists of importance as all mages would now need to learn other ways to use magic, as lyrium became scarce. It was several months before Varric could pick up a pen again and write about what had happened. No more secrets. The truth now. Beginning to end.

Iron Bull was not much of one for settling in or dealing with politics. He took his Chargers and roamed again. But he was always welcome on the Peninsula. Uleran joined the Chargers and left with Iron Bull, until he could figure out what to do with himself.

Sera stayed, citing a need to learn how to use this magic garbage if she was going to have it. Minaeve stayed with her. Anock stayed too, finally finding a role he enjoyed, study and teaching. 

Cole stayed as well, with Liesel. He slowly taught her what he had learned about being more human. They still came to the others with very awkward questions sometimes, stated awkward truths out loud or showed their shared affinity for knives. From the outside, it was interesting to watch the two of them discover their humanity together. Even sweet, if a little unnerving, when Liesel discovered dancing and swore to learn every dance that existed. What exactly had happened, no one was sure—but the physicality of dance was likely not lost on them as they slowly became aware of what a touch could mean, of what body language could tell.

Eckona basically claimed the peninsula and Leliana backed it. No kingdoms were in any position to argue. Elves were invited to stay or flock there. It spread out from the hold and into the forest, growing into a real city. It would be a center of knowledge on all subjects but especially that of ancient elves. It grew quickly. 

Apparently, titles and land and such were bestowed on Eckona for fixing the sky (as had several of the others) but she didn’t pay much attention to it. She established the university, got a system of governance in place and spent her days seeking quiet or exploring the Fade. She occasionally taught but most of the time, steeped herself in translations and finding eluvians to repair or restore. She kept a room aside with more than a dozen of these mirrors that connected all over Thedas. Scattered to the winds—not this time. Now they were connected to her friends and when Cassandra was ready to burst in a fit of temper, Arlath would bring her here so she didn’t hurt anyone. Dorian showed her a rune he’d created for long-distance communication, which she then copied and gave to Cullen and Tam. 

When the loneliness became too intense to bear, she would often find peace in the Fade. The Veil had been significantly changed at its second casting. Dwarves could now dream, spirits could pass through the Veil if they had the will. And if they did—they found it much easier to take on physical forms like Cole and Liesel. But spirits had to maintain a certain sense of peace with themselves to cross—demons like Rage or Fear found themselves blocked by the Veil. Being so consumed by their intensity, they were unable to sink through the Veil into the Real. Mages and scholars would debate on the reasons for that for years. Some theorized that spirits could maintain frequencies within themselves and the Veil now required a certain frequency to pass through it. It wasn’t just about finding the barrier and lifting the curtain. It was becoming one with that barrier and becoming part of the Real. If what they reflected was too intense, they wouldn’t be able to pass through the barrier. 

Gentle spirits would have no problem with this but aggressive ones would be kept at bay. It would also help protect mages from possession if the violent and aggressive spirits couldn’t cross into the Real or into dreams. At least, that was the theory. Solas and Ghilan’nain didn’t really have time to explain the changes they’d made. It was up to the curiosity of all races to figure out the new rules.

Eckona spent a few years in quiet peace, recording all the things she had learned, until she started to feel restless again. She eventually commissioned a small fleet of ships.

There were lands across sea. There had to be. 

Someone had to discover them, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has taken me two months to write.
> 
> Thank you, to everyone who hung out with me while I was learning about this world and the universe as I played Inquisition for the first time. I'll probably be editing after this--because I had some things I thought I would do--and then changed my mind and did something else. So there are a few discrepancies and awkward lines/moments and such. 
> 
> If you're curious, this is the character I based Eckona off of. She was originally called Tam: 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> http://sailtheplains.tumblr.com/post/144377520205/this-was-eckona-lavellan-10-an-elfquisitor-known
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> And then when I tried an elfquisitor again, I came up with the name Eckona:  
> http://sailtheplains.tumblr.com/post/143662988445/eckona-the-rogue-elfquisitor-shaggy-hair-and
> 
>  
> 
> And I ended up combining the two of them to create the Eckona for this story.  
> She was my rogue elfquisitor. I had no idea about Ghilan'nain having white hair at first (because this was my first Dragon Age game and I hadn't even finished Inquisition yet when I started writing this). So when I got that point in the game, where you learn about Ghilan'nain, I was like: Oh! Whoa! Weird.
> 
> But that did lead me to start paying attention to stuff related to Ghilan'nain (like how often statues of halla and wolves appear together), which led me to some theories about who she was. All the stuff beyond the scope of Inquisition is just a compilation of my theories. I dunno if any of it would actually end up being right. I don't know if all of it even fits with previous lore from previous games. (I just bought the other two to play.)
> 
> I'm most interested in finding out if Ghilan'nain and Andraste are actually the same person (especially when I read that Ghilan'nain did not start out as one of the elven 'gods', she was one of the 'people'). And if Arlathan is the Black City. I thought that was a really neat idea when it occurred to me as a possibility. And then how so many things seem to line up to happening around a thousand years ago. Solas went to Sleep, Corypheus went to the Black City, the 'Maker' turned away from the world, Andraste was kicking it in Thedas ecetera, ecetera. And I started to wonder if these things were more than just coincidence. Because history isn't perfect--especially when it comes to religion. Stories change and expand and get twisted because the folks writing it don't have all the answers. 
> 
> I wish Solas could live. I miss him. But when I look into everything he did--I just don't think it would be possible to let him live after everything he's done. 
> 
> I'm interested in seeing if the Inquisitor will be included in the next game like Hawke was (I guess Hawke is from DA2?)--and especially if you were with Solas: which, I dunno, I kind of see that as maybe being the 'canon' OTP sort of deal--because it was so emotionally involved. I'd never played a DA game before. I had no idea what I was in for and her attitude was exactly what I did. I was suspicious of him, so I started really trying to get to know his character and totally fell for it. And then just got fucking _crushed_ at the end. I was devastated and furious.
> 
>  
> 
> Also, is it just me or is totally weird that if you play an elf and your clan gets fucking wiped out, no one says _anything_ about it to you. Like, as detailed as some of your other interactions, I kind of expected there to be.... _something_ of like, oh hey, your family and friends are dead. That sucks, Inquisitor. 
> 
> I just started a new game with a dwarfqusitor. Wow, huge missed opportunities there. I thought Solas would be really interested especially in formally magic-less dwarf now being able to use magic. But he just has the same conversations with them. Thought that was a big missed opportunity for some custom dialogue that would have been really cool and interesting. I just want to rewrite their entire interaction.
> 
>  
> 
> Well, thank you all again if you hung out with me this far. I got really involved in writing this and I even shed a tear or two when I finished writing The Night Path. Hopefully it wasn't too Mary-Sue-ish or anything. I tried to toe the line that the game does--where the emphasis is on you being Special McMarkyTrousers but also on your interactions with everyone else. 
> 
>  
> 
> I think my favorite part was coming up with all the tags though.
> 
>  
> 
>  **EDIT** on 8 May 2016: I decided to noodle around with an alternate ending over here if anyone is interested in that sort of thing: http://archiveofourown.org/works/6793399/chapters/15517939 
> 
> In this, Solas lives.


End file.
